Aquiel
by amalcolm1
Summary: Storm receives some unexpected news-involving Gambit and Wolverine. A journey across nine months...well, I guess that says what the unexpected news was.
1. Default Chapter

"Aquiel"  
  
By Andrea Malcolm  
  
"Fathers are biological necessities, but social accidents." -Margaret Mead  
  
August  
  
Ororo Munroe had never remembered being this sick before. She did not get queasy very often. But in this last month or so, she had spent more time running to the bathroom than she cared to think about. It was just not in her body's nature to spend so much time nauseous.  
  
In the bathroom near her loft bedroom, she stood up, somewhat dizzy, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. What sort of infection could I have contracted that could make me this sick? If she didn't know better, she would think she was pregnant. But there was no way that could be possible, so it had to be some sort of illness. The funny thing was, she could be fine one minute, and sick to her stomach the next. And what sort of sickness lasts more than a month? Shaking her head, Ororo took a sip of water. She had been trying to avoid it, but it seemed she would have to face the inevitable. She would have to go and see Henry McCoy, Xavier Institute's renowned doctor and biochemist. She hated to waste his time on a mysterious case of stomach flu, especially when she knew he was busy working on a cure for the Legacy virus, but she couldn't stand this any longer.  
  
After her most recent wave of nausea subsided, Ororo made her way from her loft down to Hank's lab, on the other side of the school. Thankfully, she did not meet any of her friends along the way. She knew she didn't look well, and the last thing she wanted was a lot of questions that she couldn't answer.  
  
Hank McCoy, also known as Beast, was exactly where Storm thought he would be, sitting at his computer, meticulously going over formulas, hoping to find some kind of breakthrough in the most recent mutant crisis-an outbreak of disease that effected mutants, known as the Legacy virus. So far, Hank had not been able to do anything to help those already affected, or to stop further outbreaks. It had been most frustrating to the man, who for all of his medical experience and genius-level intelligence, had not been able to come up with any good news.  
Hank's door to his lab was open, but Ororo knocked anyway before entering. "Good Morning, Hank. Am I disturbing you?"  
  
Beast paused, and swiveled around in his chair, a smile playing on his furry blue face. "Of course not, my dear. I was just in the process of taking a break, so I welcome the interruption. Can I assist you with something?"  
  
Storm noticed how tired he looked. She figured that he probably hadn't really intended to stop working, and wondered if he had even gone to bed last night. As another wave of dizziness hit her, she unsteadily made her way over to the nearest chair. Beast immediately went to help her, his face showing concern. "Are you ill, Ororo? I have never seen you so unsteady before." Before Storm could even reply, he was already examining her.  
  
She nodded, but was cut short when the room began to spin. "Yes. I am afraid I am ill. But I have no idea what could be wrong with me, so I decided that you may be able to help in that department." She managed a weak smile.  
  
Beast helped her to her feet, and onto his examination table. "What symptoms have you observed?" He asked, his pen posed to take notes.  
  
"Mostly nausea," she replied, watching him as began to take notes. "Occasional dizziness, as well, as you noticed right then. That's about it, as best I can tell, but then I am not a doctor."  
  
Hank nodded, and stopped writing. "How long have you been feeling like this?"  
  
She felt her cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment. "Well...slightly more than a month, I guess."  
  
Hank's face turned stern. He looked at her over the rims of his glasses, eyes blazing. "You have been sick for more than a month and you haven't been to see me until now?" His voice rose slightly, but Storm knew it was more out of concern rather than anger.  
  
"I am sorry, Hank. Truly I am. I only hoped it might go away by itself. I am usually very resilient to sickness, and I am not used to having to ask for help in dealing with such things. Do not think of it as an insult. I have great faith in your abilities as a doctor."  
  
Hank's face softened once again. "I will forgive you this time, but do not let it happen again. There is certainly no need for you to suffer when I am here more than happy to help you. Now, hold this under your tongue like a good girl." He held up a thermometer.  
Storm smiled, and obediently opened her mouth. After Hank had taken her temperature, checked her blood pressure, and finished his examination, she began to get the impression that he was not telling her something. She sat up on the table. "What is it, Hank? Please tell me. Whatever it is, I can deal with it."  
  
Hank cleared his throat, and once again returned to his seat. "Well...because I can see no signs of an infection of any kind, the most obvious thing I must ask is if there is any chance you could be pregnant."  
  
Ororo shook her head. "I am certainly not out of it that much, Hank. I would have told you if I thought that was at all possible. I can assure you that there is no way that I can be pregnant."  
  
Hank maneuvered his chair over to one of his supply cabinets. "Are you absolutely certain? Every sign points to that as the most logical solution to your mysterious illness." He fiddled around in the drawer, and pulled out a small plastic cup.  
  
Ororo noticed it, and shook her head. "I am certain that I am not pregnant. It is just not possible. Forge and I broke up a year ago, and I haven't..." she paused. "Um...been with anyone since then."  
  
Hank considered this, and pushed his chair back over to her. "It's not that I don't trust you, my dear. But as a doctor, I won't be satisfied until I explore every possible avenue." He handed her the cup. "I believe you know what to do with this. Humor me, please."  
  
Storm sighed, and took the cup from him. "Alright, Hank. If it will make you feel better, I will do it. But after you determine that that is not the cause, how long can I expect until you find out what is?"  
  
Hank shrugged. "I assure you that I will get to work on it. If the pregnancy test is negative-  
  
"Which it will be."  
  
Hank raised an eyebrow. "Then I will draw a sample of your blood and proceed from there." He frowned slightly. "A normal stomach virus just does not last this long. And it certainly does not fluctuate from day to day like you said. Hmm." He mused, thinking. "Off hand, I cannot guess what the culprit may be, but never you fear- I will not let even a single bacterium allude me." He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Now if you wouldn't mind taking care of that for me," he said, pointing at the cup. "I shall divest my attention in the mystery-post haste."  
  
-An hour later-  
  
"What?! How can that be possible?" Ororo stared at her friend as if he had just informed her that the moon was indeed made out of green cheese.  
  
Hank sighed and handed the piece of paper to her that contained the test results. "I believe this speaks for itself. You are indeed five weeks pregnant. As for how this is possible, I believe you are better equipped to answer that than I."  
  
Storm snatched the paper from him, and read over it several times. After a minute or two, she looked up, shaking her head. "Are you absolutely certain that the test is accurate?"  
  
Hank chuckled softly, and cleared his throat. "I assure you that this is not some over the counter, store brought test. My test is 100% accurate, and I am sorry Ororo, but you are without a doubt pregnant. Might I be the first to offer my congratulations?"  
  
Storm furiously slammed the paper onto his desk. Hank flinched, not remembering ever seeing her so emotional. If she really lost control, they could expect some sort of atmospheric interference, of that Hank was certain. She took a deep breath, and said, "I did not lie to you before."  
  
Hank took her hand into his own massive blue furry one. "I never said you did, my dear." He paused and shrugged, trying hard not to smile. "Well, there is one case of Immaculate Conception on record, perhaps now we can up that number to two?"  
  
Storm, however, was not in the mood for jokes. "Be serious, Hank. That it not a viable conclusion. There is only one answer to this. I was violated without my knowledge."  
  
Hank sucked in a noisy breath. "But"- He paused, not being able to come up with a logical argument. He knew Ororo well enough to know that she would not lie to him. Confusion crossed his face as he said, "Are you certain, my friend? I mean-who would do such a thing? Certainly no one here."  
  
Storm sighed and shrugged. "Can you think of any other possible answer? I most certainly cannot. And I have heard that such things are possible to do. Date rape drugs, I believe they are called."  
Hank sat down in his chair slowly, a hand pressed to his forehead. "Yes, certainly it is possible. Especially recently, when such drugs are so easily accessible to the general public. I am totally at a loss. I know that you would never even suggest such a thing unless you truly believed it was true. But now the question remains- who do you think could have done such a horrible thing?"  
  
As the shock began to ware off, Storm felt fear and disbelief wash over her. "I haven't the slightest idea. But I do know this much-with the exception of the men living in this house-I have not been alone with any male for several months. And it couldn't have been an intruder. Cerebro and the various telepaths, including the Professor, would have certainly known." She stopped, and let her gaze shift to meet Hanks. He couldn't help but notice the dread in her eyes. "Do you realize what that means? Someone in this house has done the unthinkable."  
  
Hank's eyes widened at that. "Oh my stars and garters...I just...I can't believe that any of my friends could have done such a thing. It is inconceivable."  
  
Storm swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to keep her emotions in check. "We all have dark sides to our souls, Hank." She replied. Wild suspicions flew through her mind, and she shuddered as she felt Hanks hand still clutching hers, her mind briefly considering the chance that it could have been him. He had access to the kind of drugs that would be necessary, after all. She clucked her tongue, disgusted at herself for even considering such a thing. Certainly it was not he. I have known Hank longer than any of the other men here, with the exception of the Professor. He would never, ever do such a thing. But who would?  
  
Rising to her feet, Storm opened her eyes, and said, "I believe we must speak to the Professor at once. There is a person with an appalling secret living right here amongst us, and I will not stand for it. I demand some answers."  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Professor Charles Xavier glanced from Storm to Beast and back again. Because he possessed one of the most powerful brains on the planet, there was very little that he could be told that would shock him. But what two of his most trusted and respected students were telling him now was indeed horrifying.  
  
Leaning back in his hoverchair, he shook his head in disbelief. "Are you absolutely certain?" He asked. A quick scan of their minds had already revealed to the man that they did indeed believe what they were saying, but he still could not believe it.  
  
Storm leaned back in chair, trying to control all the shock she was feeling. She hoped that this was some sort of bad dream; that she might wake up and discover that it didn't really happen. "It is the only solution that makes sense, Charles. You have known me for a long time, do you honestly think I would make such an accusation unless I believed it to be true? I give you full and absolute permission to scan my mind to see if you can find the truth."  
  
The professor cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. "Although I would normally never do such a thing, I will tell you that I already have without your permission. This is a most serious accusation, and I felt it best to try to get to the bottom of this immediately."  
  
Hank leaned forward in his chair anxiously. "And? Have you found anything of value? Some sort of clue?"  
  
Charles shook his head sadly. "Admittedly, I have not. You seem to have no lasting memory whatsoever of what may have happened." He told Storm. "Whoever did this seems to have erased all traces of the event from your memory."  
  
Hank frowned, thinking. "A telepath, perhaps? Certainly, it would have been easy for someone with telepathic powers."  
  
Storm turned to him. "But you are forgetting that, with the exception of the Professor, there are no male telepaths living here." For a second, her mind raced over the possibility that her beloved friend Gambit could be the one. He had never been very clear about his powers, and everyone had suspected that he had some hidden powers, possibly similar to telepathy, that he wasn't letting on about. And certainly, he would not need drugs to get her to go to bed with him, his charm powers would be more than sufficient. And if it were possible for him to erase the event afterward...Storm shuddered, not wanting to consider the fact that he may be capable of such a thing. He was her dearest friend in the world, and closer to her than a brother.  
  
A quick glance at Hank and the Professor let her know that they were thinking much as she was. After an agonizing moment of silence, Charles said, "I do not believe that it was necessarily a person with telepathic abilities. Certainly, anyone who put enough planning into it could have pulled something like this off." He sighed, not liking the task that inevitably lay before him. "I find it very hard to believe that one of my X-Men could be capable of such an act, but if it was, Ororo, I must not allow them to get away with this. Everyone must be questioned immediately."  
  
Storm nodded miserably. How could she look her friends in the eye after this? Even if one of them was the guilty party the others would resent her even accusing them. Oh, Goddess, why has this happened to me?  
  
Charles gave her a sympathetic look. She had known the man since she was a child in Cairo, and if there was another she respected more, or even considered her only paternal connection, she didn't know whom. This would be hard for him as well. "Perhaps it would be best if I questioned everyone without you being there. It might make everything go more smoothly."  
  
Ororo considered this for a minute. "I do not want to be thought a coward. It is not that I am afraid to face them..." She trailed off, not sure what to say.  
  
"I think that they will understand with time. Certainly no one here thinks you are a coward."  
  
Storm closed her eyes, wishing once again that this would be a dream. That she would wake up any moment now, and the nightmare would be over. She nodded her head slowly. "Thank you, Charles." 


	2. Chapter 2

* * * * * * * *  
  
"Alright, Chuck, what's going on here?" Logan asked loudly. "Why've you got us all here like this? Better have a good reason to interrupt our game." The short man known to his teammates as Wolverine stood in the Danger Room with the other X- Men, sweat glistening on his hairy, leathery skin. He definitely lived up to his feral name. That's why it was so surprising that he was such a valuable member of the team. "Just about to kick Gumbo and Popsicles' asses at two-on-two." He added, an almost evil glare in his icey blue eyes. He turned to the others and grinned maddeningly.  
  
""Scuze me?" Remy LeBeau interjected. The tall, handsome, former thief known as Gambit raised his eyebrows. "Who was 'bout to kick whose ass, old man? You and Bishop were down 8 points. You run outta claws to count, or what?" His grinned with all the charm that he was capable of portraying, which was quite a lot. His smooth Cajun accent added to his aura of mystery, along with his eyes-glowing energy red and black. It always baffled people at first, but the others were used to it.  
  
Logan growled. "Maybe if Bish would learn to stop foulin' people. Of course, Drake does whine like a little baby whenever someone puts a finger on him."  
  
"Hey!" Bobby Drake, AKA Iceman, yelled. "I do not! And anyway, Bishop cheats! It's a wonder I could get a shot off without him all over me." He was the youngest on the team, and hated anyone thinking he was weaker in any sort of way then everyone else.  
  
Bishop narrowed his eyes at Bobby. He was a huge man, nearly seven feet tall, but because he was from a future where many things that people take for granted did not exist, such as basketball, there were things he did not understand and were still learning about. Looming over him, the dark man said in a deep voice, "I do not cheat. I failed to understand all the rules to that foolish game. You were probably just making them up as you went along, Drake."  
  
Both Logan and Remy were about to break into the conversation when the Professor sent a telepathic suggestion through all of them. All four men froze in their tracks. "Enough!" He said. "Your four will reframe from speaking to each other from now until this meeting is concluded. Is that understood?"  
  
The four men glanced at each other, but remained silent, even Logan. It was not like the Professor to get so emotional. Whatever he had called them there for must be pretty important. Charles settled back, turning his attention away from the four of them, and stared out over the entire group of his X-Men. "Now," he began, "the reason I have asked all of you here is"- he paused upon realizing something. "Has anyone seen Scott and Jean?"  
  
Warren Worthington, the X-Man known as Archangel, cleared his throat. "They...uh...said that they were going out of town. Jean said that they would back tomorrow morning. Guess they forgot to tell you."  
  
Bobby snickered loudly, and whistled. Logan gave him a sharp jab in the ribs, to shut him up. "Ow!" Bobby muttered, giving the man a dirty look and rubbing his now sore chest, but closed his mouth after glancing at Charles. He knew the professor rarely made idle threats.  
  
"Well," he continued. "We will simply have to proceed without them. Now as I was saying, the reason that I have asked you here so suddenly is that something...distasteful has been brought to my attention. If you haven't already noticed, Storm is also not present. I thought it best that way, considering she is the reason I must address the rest of you."  
  
Gambit stood up straight, alarm registering in his face. "There ain't nothin' wrong wit' her is there?" He asked, obviously worried about his best friend.  
  
Charles held up a hand. "Do not be alarmed, Remy. She is not injured, if that is what you mean. But certainly she is far from fine."  
  
"Then what's wrong with her?" Logan growled, not liking this beating around the bush game. He was a very direct person who liked answers immediately.  
  
Charles sighed, not exactly sure how to proceed. "She is pregnant." He began, pausing to judge their reactions.  
  
For a second, no one said anything. Everyone's jaws dropped open at the unexpected news, obviously quite shocked. Logan was the first to recover. "Did you just say that Storm's pregnant, Chuck? Or do I need to start shoppin' for a hearing aid?"  
  
Charles nodded his head. "Indeed I did, Logan. She went to see Hank complaining of nausea and dizziness. As a precaution, he gave her a pregnancy test, and it came up positive. She is approximately five weeks along."  
  
Suddenly, the silence was forgotten, and everyone was talking at once. Gambit stood there in a daze, unable to believe what he was hearing. How could she not tell me something like this? I didn't even know that she was involved with anyone. He frowned, his mind full of confusion, and cleared his throat loudly. Everyone stopped talking and turned to him. "Um...'scuze me for interrupting, but there somethin' I gotta know." He turned to the professor. "Who be the father here, professor?"  
  
Once again, the room became completely quiet, as all eyes turned to Charles. He frowned and turned to Hank. He nodded, silently acknowledging that he understood what must be said. "Ororo has informed me," Hank began, "that she does not know who the father of her baby is. In fact, she has no memory of a relationship that could have produced this child in the necessary time frame."  
  
If everyone had been shocked before, that jolt was replaced by one stronger ten fold. "What?!" Bobby exclaimed. "She doesn't know who the father is?!"  
  
"But how can that be possible?" Warren added.  
  
Hank paused, biting his lower lip nervously. "Well, that is why the professor and I have asked all of you here..."  
  
Bobby's face turned from shocked to confused. "I don't get it, professor. How could we possibly know who the father of Storm's kid is? I mean, if she doesn't know, how could we?" A general murmur of agreement echoed throughout the room.  
  
Logan, however, remained silent. He may not have genius level intelligence like Beast and Chuck, but he smelled what they were up to. And it smelled awful. Eyes narrowed, he made his way from behind everyone else to where Hank and the professor were watching the reaction of the other X-Men. He stood over the professor's hoverchair glaring at him for a second before slamming his hands down on the chair. He was practically nose- to-nose with the man. "I get what's goin' on here, Chuck. And I don't like it one bit."  
  
Charles' face turned grim being so near the man. "Please, Logan, do not overreact"- He began.  
  
Logan growled and spun around to face the others. "Don't you get it?" He said. "Chuck and Hank here think that someone got Storm pregnant." He stopped, frowning, and added, "Without her bein' aware of it."  
  
Silence filled the Danger Room once more. There seemed to be no end to the shock today. Kurt Wagner, known to his friends as Nightcrawler, was the first to break the quiet. "Mein Gott," he exclaimed. "Are you suggesting that Storm was raped, professor?" His solid yellow eyes filled with horror, as Charles' silence seemed to confirm Kurt's statement.  
  
"Oh mah Gawd..." Rogue said, covering her mouth. "That's horrible...But who could have done such a thing?"  
  
Gambit turned and headed for the door. "I'm goin' to see Stormy right now."  
  
The professor froze him in his tracks with hardly more than a thought. "I am afraid you will have to stay here for now, Gambit. You can see her shortly, but first we must conclude this."  
  
He turned around and glared at the man with his unnerving black and red eyes, clearly angry. "She needs me, damnit!" He yelled.  
  
Logan growled, and grabbed the Cajun by the collar of his long overcoat. "Don't you listen, Gumbo?" He exclaimed, shaking him none too gently. "Chuck and Hank think that one of us here raped Ro and got her pregnant!"  
  
Remy's face turned from angry to stunned as Logan released him. He staggered back a few steps. "You don't...You can't..." He stammered, shaking his head. "You don't really think that one of us could do somethin' like that, do you?"  
  
"It's just that, well..." Charles began, but was unable to finish. How could he possibly confirm that he was, at least, considering that such a thing had happened?  
  
Hank broke in, "We must explore every possibility, however unlikely, my friend. As of now, Storm obviously just wants answers. As her friends, it is up to us to do everything possible to give them to her."  
  
Bobby sprang to his feet. "I think this whole thing is sick!" He said in a squeaky voice, clearly angry. "How could Storm even think that one of us would rape her? We're her friends for Christ's sake!"  
  
"Please, Robert, try and understand"- Charles started  
  
"I think Drake's right," Warren interjected, also getting to his feet. "I sympathize with Storm's situation and all, but accusing us crosses the line. She has no right to realize that she made a mistake one night or whatever, and then try to blame us for it."  
  
Remy hardly wasted a second, swiftly moving until he was face-to- face with the man. "You better watch your mout', homme. If 'Roro say that she don't know how this happen, then that the way it is. She'd not suggest something unless she thought it true." Anger dripped from his voice, but Worthington was neither surprised nor intimidated.  
  
"Don't even try threatening me, LeBeau," he said, shoving him away. "And it's no surprise you're sticking up for her, you're probably responsible for this whole thing. What happened? She wasn't falling for your charm? Did you have to get a little more insistent? Then what, did you feel guilty and erase the whole thing from her mind?"  
  
If Logan had not been right there to grab him, Remy would have sent the four charged playing cards he held right at Warren's head before he would have even had the opportunity to blink. Logan, probably the only X-Man whose reflexes were faster than those of the Cajun himself, sprang forward and seized Gambit by his arms, pulling him backward. "Don't even try it, Cajun," he growled. "Not worth losing your head over."  
  
Gambit twisted away, eyes blazing. He looked mad enough to spit his charged kinetic energy at the man, without even having to bother with the cards he often used. "I ain't the one gonna lose my head. Don't know one 'cuse me of somethin' like that. 'Specially 'bout Stormy."  
  
Warren took a step toward him, but his wife Betsy blocked his way. Betsy Braddock-Worthington, the kitana ninja known as Psylocke, held up a hand. "No, Warren. Stop right now. I will not allow you to get into a fight over this."  
  
Gambit gave the man a cocky, dangerous grin. "Guess we know who wear the pants in that relationship."  
  
The professor hovered his chair over between his feuding team. "Both of you will end this right now. Accusations and petty bickering will get us no where." He gave both Warren and Remy a stern look, almost daring either of them to contradict him. Both remained silent, however sullen. "All I am asking of you is to allow me access to the regions of your minds that contain short term memory. If you are hiding nothing, then you have nothing to fear. I assure each of you that I will not venture any farther than your activities in the last month and a half."  
  
"This is stupid." Bobby said, crossing his arms. "How can we call ourselves a team and a family if we don't trust each other?" He paused, and frowned. "I, for one, don't want to be a part of any team that has someone on it that would accuse me of raping her."  
  
Professor Xavier sighed, and shook his head. "I will certainly not force any of you to submit to this. But please realize that it is for the betterment of the team that you do. One of your own needs your support and understanding right now. I realize your feelings, Robert, and I do not blame you for them. But try, if you can, to put yourself in Ororo's place. She is certainly more shocked and confused by this than anyone. And I have a duty to help her find the answers that she needs."  
  
Bishop, who had remained silent up until now, stepped forward. "I agree with the professor. Proper police procedure in any situation like this would call for anyone and everyone to be interrogated."  
  
Logan snorted. "This ain't a cop movie, Bish," he said. "But you're right. If I was in Ro's place, I'd be doin' the same thing." He turned to the professor. "I got nothing to hide, Chuck. Go ahead and scan away."  
  
"This may take some time, Logan, to do a thorough job. I think it would best for all of those that are voluntarily allowing me to search their minds to accompany me back to my study. I would prefer to carry this out one person at a time."  
  
"Fine," Remy said, heading for the door. "You do what you have to, professor, 'cept I'm goin' first. We goin' to get this over right now so I can go see Stormy." He didn't even wait for a reply or for the others to follow him as he headed out of the Danger Room, and straight towards the study.  
  
Warren watched him go, eyes narrowed. "I still don't trust him," he muttered, "but if he has something to do with this, then it's between him and Storm." He turned to Betsy, and said, "I, too, have nothing to hide, so I don't have a problem with having my mind scanned. Are you coming with me, dear?" She nodded and took his hand, and they headed out with Bishop and Nightcrawler close behind.  
  
Rogue shrugged, looking around nervously. "Well, I think it would be kinda silly for you to bother with me, so maybe I'll just go see if Storm needs anything."  
  
Logan turned to Bobby. "You comin', kid?"  
  
Bobby frowned. "I still don't like this; I totally think it's wrong, but I'll do it." He continued to scowl as he followed the rest of the team in the direction of the study.  
  
Logan turned to the professor and Hank. "You don't really think anything is going to come of this, do you?"  
  
Hank and Charles glanced at each other, and sighed sadly. "No, I do not," the professor said. "I trust everyone here, and I feel that I know all of you well enough to know that none of you would do something like this. But as I said, I have a responsibility to Storm, and I must do everything possible to help her."  
  
Logan nodded, eyes narrowed. "So since it probably weren't one of us that supplied the kid, the question remains, who did?"  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Although it was hardly the middle of the afternoon, Storm's loft bedroom was nearly pitch black when Remy walked in. All the windows had the shades drawn, and even the skylight had been blocked of all light. His eyes were far better than the average person's, however, and they instantly adjusted to the dark. Outside, Remy heard a distant roll of thunder, one he could easily guess was caused by Storm's mood. "Stormy?" he called, eyes falling on the bed where she sat.  
  
She didn't look up. She had expected that he would come here sooner or later. Half of her was glad that he was here, as she desperately wanted to be comforted by him, but the other half simply wanted to be left alone, not wanting to muster the courage to face him. Although she could not see as well as he in the dark, she could sense when he was near. And she knew that he would not leave without a fight. "Leave me alone, Remy." Ororo said into the darkness. Even to herself, her voice sounded more bitter than she had intended.  
  
He flinched slightly, not used to being turned away by his best friend. But he was certainly not going to abide by her. He doubted that was what she really wanted, anyway. Without saying another word, he made his way over to her bed, past the rows upon rows of the plants and flowers Storm loved. Some were common houseplants that any person might have, and some were very rare and exotic looking creations. In one corner, a very foreign looking orange plant that vaguely resembled a fern grew. It had been a gift from the Shi'ar empress Lilandra, and only grew in remote sections of the Shi'ar homeworld. Remy knew that the rare alien plant was one of Ororo's favorites. He also knew where every single one of these plants was arranged in her room, and even if he had not been able to see anything in the darkness, he would have easily been able to navigate his way around. Her plants were as much as part of Ororo as her ability to control the weather. And no one knew her better than he. That was why he was so concerned and confused about this whole thing.  
  
Storm was sitting on her bed as perfectly calm as Remy had ever seen her. She looked as if everything were perfectly normal, as if nothing at all was happening. He frowned, wondering if she was in shock. Not sure what to say or do, he simply stood there, staring at her. He was almost relieved when she turned to him, even though the expression on her face was less than inviting. "I thought I asked you to leave." She said, anger flashing in her eyes.  
  
Remy sat down on the corner of the bed, undeterred by her words. "You did."  
  
"Then why, may I ask, are you still here?"  
  
Smiling slightly at her, he said, "You know me well 'nough to know the answer to that question."  
  
Storm looked away from him. "If you truly wish to help me you will abide by my wishes and leave me alone."  
  
He moved closer to her, studying her face. If she really wanted him gone, she had the power to do that. His instincts told him that she didn't actually want him to. "I don't think you really want me to leave. You need someone to talk to, and you know it."  
  
Storm sighed, somewhat irritably. "I will be fine. You needn't be so concerned for my welfare."  
  
Remy moved even closer so that he was sitting right next to his friend. "I'm not leavin'." He informed her.  
  
Her voice grew even more exasperated. "Why must you always be so stubborn?"  
  
He took her hand. "'Cause I care 'bout you and want to help you."  
  
She pulled away. "I do not need either your help nor company. And if you care as much as you say, than you will leave me in peace!"  
  
He flinched again, her words cutting him deeply. He was used to being hurt by anyone and everyone, but not Storm. She just never spoke to him this way. "Why you bein' like this, 'Roro? Why won't you let me help you?" He frowned and shook his head. "This ain't like you, chere."  
  
She turned to him once again, her face softer this time. For a few seconds she simply looked at him, as if she were studying him, memorizing the details of his face and body. It made him nervous. He didn't like to be inspected by people, even if it was his best friend. Finally, her gaze was averted and she rested her hand on his. "I am sorry, Remy. I had no cause to speak to you like that."  
  
He squeezed her hand gently. "S'okay, chere. I know you upset. I want to help you."  
  
She sighed and closed her eyes. For a minute, she didn't respond, simply sat quietly, her head rested against the back of the bed. "I am afraid there is nothing you can do, my friend."  
  
"What happened, Stormy?" Remy asked. It was not a question he had intended on asking, but the words simply slipped out before he could stop them.  
  
She opened her eyes and smiled sadly at her friend. "If I had the answer to that question, I would not be in this situation. And for the sake of the Goddess, do not call me by that name! I am not in the mood."  
  
Remy frowned slightly. "Why didn't you come to me first, chere? I would 'ave torn apart Heaven and Hell to find you some answers. I can't understand what led you to think that you was raped by one of us."  
  
Storm sighed again, more forcefully, and stood up. "What was I supposed to think?" She said angrily, folding her arms across her chest. "How else could this have happened, Remy? If you have any suggestions I will be more than happy to entertain them."  
  
Remy shook his head. "I don't know, 'Roro. I don't know what happened to you. But I do know that no one here would rape you. They jus' wouldn't do that. I think you know that too."  
  
Storm stared at him for a minute, pacing back and forth near the bed, her faced filled with frustration and anger. Then, without warning, she stopped and began to cry. For a second, Remy simply gawked at her. He could never remember seeing her cry as an adult. Even when he had known her as a child, she had been very brave even in the most hopeless of situations. He went to her, helping her back to the bed. "Don't cry, petite," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "It gonna be okay. We get through dis." For a second, it almost seemed as though they were transported back to when she had been the younger of the two, and he would comfort her whenever she was afraid.  
  
Storm looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. "Oh, Remy. Why did this happen to me?"  
  
He shook his head, not sure how to respond. "I don't know, chere. I really don't. If I did, I'd know what to do. But we get through this. I promise. I ain't never broken a promise to you before, have I?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, I don't believe you have." Briefly, the thought passed through Storm's head that he had used the word "promise" rather than "lie." Although as far as she knew, he had never broken a promise to her, certainly he had lied to her before. She sat up in bed, and dried her eyes. She would have no more of this. Tears and feelings of pity for herself would not solve any problems. "You are right, my friend," she said. "I will get through this. Certainly, crying isn't doing me any good. I must start thinking about this logically, without letting my emotions get in the way."  
  
Remy smiled at her, cupping her chin in his hand. "There's no shame in crying, petite. It good to see you let down that whole "goddess wall" of yours once in a while."  
  
"It is not something I normally do," she replied. "It is better for the sake of the weather that I keep my emotions in check." In the dark, Remy watched as her hands drifted down to rest on her stomach. It amazed him that there could really be a life growing in there. Could she feel it, or was it too soon? He couldn't even begin to fathom the choices and questions that lay ahead for his friend. If nothing else, her life would never be the same again. Probably none of their lives would. He moved his hand to her stomach as well, their eyes meeting as he did.  
  
"You gonna keep the baby, aren't you?" Remy whispered solemnly. He wasn't asking so much as confirming the fact. The answer was obvious in her face, but she said it aloud anyway.  
  
"Yes, I am," Ororo replied, looking into her friend's eyes for a reaction. She wasn't sure what to expect, but Remy's expression did not change. If anything, it softened, and she was slightly surprised when he squeezed her hand.  
  
"You been thinking 'bout this all day, huh?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "Perhaps it is not the wisest of decisions. I don't know. But I have put a lot of thought into it in the last several hours, and it just seems like the right thing to do."  
  
Remy nodded. "Even if it not have a daddy?"  
  
Ororo raised her eyebrows at the unexpected question. He didn't seem to be arguing her decision, however, just voicing a concern. "Certainly," she said, "this will not be the first child to be raised without a father. You were raised without a mother and you turned out reasonably fine." Remy smiled at that, but Storm continued. "And I spent the majority of my life parentless. I will simply have to do the best that I can alone. I think because I don't know who the father is, it is even more important that I raise it myself."  
  
"Stormy-I mean, 'Roro," Remy began, a serious look crossing his face, "when I say that I be there for you, I mean it. I be your baby's daddy if you let me."  
  
Although she wasn't sure why, his words didn't really surprise her. Storm pulled Remy to her, resting her head on his, trying to alleviate some of the weight that she felt pressing against her. "That is the most selfless and generous thing I have ever heard you say, Remy," she mumbled into his soft auburn colored hair. "But I cannot ask you to do that. It is not your responsibility."  
  
"That not the point, chere," he replied. "And you not asking me, I'm asking you to let me."  
  
"I do not think you comprehend what an undertaking raising a child is. I simply cannot allow you to take on the responsibility of becoming a father. However, I would like it very much if you would agree to be my child's godfather."  
  
Remy broke away, and looked up, his eyes glowing. "You mean that?" He asked excitedly.  
  
She smiled, glad that the position delighted him so. "Of course I mean it. I take it, then, that you accept?"  
  
"Absolutely." He said, hugging her close. "It would be an honor, chere."  
  
"You always make me feel better, you know that?" She was comforted by the fact that Remy was not only not angry about what had happened, but that he actually supported her decision.  
  
"That what I here for, petite." He said, kissing her cheek. "Now, you don't worry 'bout nothin' else for now, 'kay? We worry 'bout how this happen later. For now, you jus' relax and let me take care of you."  
  
"Well, if you insist." Storm said, leaning back against her pillow.  
  
"You need anything, Stormy?"  
  
She thought for a moment, not wanting the opportunity to be waited on by the man to be passed up. "I suppose I could use something to drink. Orange juice would be nice." She sighed, "I suppose I shall have to lay off the coffee for awhile."  
  
Remy nodded seriously and stood up. "That right, chere. No coffee, no booze, no heavy lifting, no bending over, none of that."  
  
She gave him a look with those penetrating sky blue eyes of hers. "I already do not drink alcohol. And as far as lifting and bending over, I am pregnant, not an invalid."  
  
"You probably have to get some of those real ugly pregnant dresses, too, chere. I go wit' you and help you pick 'em out."  
  
"You are lucky that it is dark and I cannot see you." She called from across the room. He laughed and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Down in the kitchen, Remy busied himself digging through the refrigerator looking for the carton of orange juice. He marveled over some of the things that were in there, wondering how they managed to fit in all the actual food with the other crap. Chinese take-out containers, bottles of that Red Bull stuff which could only belong to Warren, an unopened bag of kelp and trail mix, (what the hell is kelp, anyway?) a half-eaten Scooby- Doo t.v. dinner that had to be Bobby's and even a box of Hank's ultimate weakness, twinkies. "Why are these in there?" He pondered. Perhaps it was because his mind was more preoccupied than usual, are maybe it was just that he was figuring out a way to sneak a twinkie without the ultra-observant Beast noticing, but for once in his life, Remy didn't hear someone standing behind him.  
  
"How's she doing?" Logan asked.  
  
Remy spun around, nearly flinging the carton of Tropicana across the room. "Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed, feeling his pulse race.  
  
Logan grinned maddeningly. "Nope. Good guess, though. 9 out of 10 for effort."  
  
"Don't sneak up on me like that!" He said, slamming a glass on the counter.  
  
Logan shrugged. "Never could before. Kinda jumpy, aren't ya, Gumbo?"  
  
"You think?"  
  
Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, he replied, "Yeah, so, back to my question, how's Ro?"  
  
Remy shrugged, shoving the carton of juice back into the unknown pit of forgotten foods. "She okay, I guess. At least she will be. She's obviously confused. More then anything she jus' want some answers. How did it go wit' the Prof?"  
  
"Dead end. But then, did ya really expect it to go any other way?" He shook his head. "We ain't the ones responsible for this."  
  
"Yeah, well..."Remy shrugged, grabbing the glass of juice. "I'm not gonna rest 'til I find out who is. I owe it to Stormy. I see you later, homme."  
  
"Yeah." Logan watched him go, arms folded across the massive chest. "Hey, kid." He said, following Remy to the steps.  
  
"Um..." he began, not sure how to say what was on his mind. "I just wanted to tell you, if you do find out who did this, and it ain't good, don't go getting yourself in too deep, all right?"  
  
Remy stared at him for a second and cocked in eyebrow in mock curiosity. "You actually telling me not to get into a fight? You feeling all right, Logan?"  
  
Logan frowned, and replied. "I just meant that you could be a real nice kid and save some of the meat for the rest of us. Mainly me. Ro's my friend, too, you know, and I ain't been able to kick no one's ass in awhile."  
  
Remy grinned at him. "Not that sound more like you. Don't worry, mon ami, I save some of the fun for you."  
  
"Thanks. I'll owe ya one."  
  
"Sure." He replied, and then headed back upstairs. Logan watched him go, suspicious thoughts racing through his mind. That wasn't exactly what he had meant, but he didn't know how to say it any other way. The scenes of what Worthington had said back in the Danger Room replayed, and as much as Logan didn't want to admit it, what he had said made sense. It was possible that Gambit had charmed Storm into bed with him, and than erased the event from her mind. He had never been very clear about what, if any, mental powers he may have, and Logan always suspected that he was actually a lot more powerful then he led on. He also knew that the kid had built in psyonic shields, and was all but immune to psychic blasts. Could he have fooled everyone, even the Professor, about what had happened? Logan narrowed his eyes at the thought, but it made to much sense to ignore. Most of the time, he got along all right with Gambit. They were too alike for them not to. He knew the kid even looked up to him in a way. But he was by nature a suspicious person, and right at the moment, the Cajun was at the top of his list of suspects. 


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all those who reviewed! And just a quick thought-as far as I know, it isn't possible to do a DNA test on an unborn fetus, and even if it were, I would think it would be dangerous. So for the sake of fiction, let's just say it's not. Hope you enjoy chapter three!  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Remy awoke the next morning much earlier than usual. He wasn't exactly sure why, except that he had trained himself to be a light sleeper, so as to awaken in an instant if he had to. In his past as a thief, that had been a necessity. You never knew when and if you were being followed, and when you may have to run. Because of this, he now usually needed drugs to sleep soundly through the night. Drugs, or large doses of alcohol. His body had always been odd with medication, though, and funnily enough, a simple dose of aspirin was usually enough to knock him out. And he hadn't taken anything last night. That must explain why he was wide-awake at 6 o'clock in the morning.  
  
Looking over, he saw Storm sound asleep, and he realized that he hadn't made it back to his own room. It wasn't anything unusual, however, as he frequently fell asleep in her room, even if she wasn't there. Her huge loft cast eerie shadows in the pre-dawn light of the day, and the rows and rows of plants vaguely resembled a jungle. Something about the whole thing was comforting to him, and in fact her whole room was, so he took up residency there whenever possible. She never made him leave, either, even when he showed up in the middle of the night unannounced. Unless he was drunk. Those were the only times she would escort him back to his own room. It was sort of her way of punishing him, he had come to realize. As he made his way to the door, Remy briefly wondered what everyone here thought about him spending the night in Storm's room. The thought had never crossed his mind before, but he realized that given what had happened, his actions now looked suspicious. Shrugging, he found that he really didn't care what they thought. If they didn't know him well enough to know that he would never do something like that, then they could go to hell.  
  
He wasn't surprised to find that he was the only one up. Even to those X-Men who enjoyed getting up to greet the sun, 6 a.m. was pushing it. Although as he passed the lab, he was pretty sure that Hank would be up soon, eager to get a start on his formulas for the Legacy Virus. It boggled Remy's mind how the man could sit there in front of a computer screen for hours on end, hardly ever stopping to even take a break. Most be frustrating as Hell, he thought.  
  
Deciding that he needed to blow off some steam, he hopped in the elevator, and took it down to the underground levels of the estate, one of which was totally devoted to the training area known as the Danger Room. In it, the ultimate in computer simulated training programs, some not even available on this planet. The professor had designed every inch of it to train his team, and it's technology was heavily guarded. Placing his hand on the DNA scanner, he let it check his genetic make-up so that it would know that it was really him, and not someone who shouldn't be where they weren't allowed. "Code accepted. Awaiting commands." The computers monotonous voice echoed throughout the massive steel room.  
  
"'Nitiate Gambit training sequence Alpha- Omega 7-3." He said. The computer beeped its conformation. "Program loaded. Enter when ready." The huge pressurized door hissed and slid up, as Remy walked inside. All around him were the sights and sounds of the bayou, rendered as perfectly as if he were actually back home in New Orleans. The dark murky water, the old, moss covered trees, even the sound of frogs and mosquitoes along with the obvious temperature increase. Everything was perfectly calm and peaceful, as it usually was back in the real bayou. He even saw the outline of a large alligator floating near the bank. Home sweet, home, he thought, swinging out his bo-staff from one the many hidden pockets of his overcoat. He scanned the area, fully aware that the utter calm was fleeting. Come out, come out wherever you are. In less than a second, the serenity of the swamps was replaced by the sounds of six masked assassins wheedling plasma rifles stepping out from some nonexistent hiding place. "Now this more like it." He said, flipping his staff in front of him at the same minute he fanned out a handful of playing cards, charging them with kinetic energy. He smiled dangerously at the holographic adversaries. "Let's rock."  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Ororo woke up slowly as the sun began to shine brightly, peeking in from behind the blinds and curtains in her loft. With a huge sigh, she opened her eyes and glanced at her alarm clock. It was after 7. Late for her. For a minute her mind struggled to embrace the sights and sounds of the new day, the events of the previous one seeming nothing more than a horrible nightmare. Surely, it was all a dream. But as her senses returned, she realized that it was not, of course. It had all really happened, and she would have to accept it.  
  
She sat up in bed, briefly considering not bothering to get up. She wanted to avoid facing her teammates a little longer. No, do not be a coward, she told herself, you will have to face them sooner or later, and you may as well get it over with. Still, she was not exactly looking forward to this day.  
  
She silently made her way down to the kitchen. She was relieved that, for the first time in a week, she was not sick upon waking up. In fact, she was hungry. She hadn't eaten much yesterday, and she craved some more of the juice Remy had bought to her last night. The huge kitchen was still empty, indicating that she was the first up. Well, the second, actually, because she realized that Gambit had to be around somewhere. She remembered that he had stayed with her last night. Most likely he had taken off on his bike. It was not like him to get up this early unless he had somewhere to be. Probably breakfasting with one of those sluts he meets at the bars. She surprised herself by realizing that she was a little jealous. Ever since he had broken up with Rogue[1], she had been more observant about his actions. And as far as she could tell, there was a lot of action to be observant about.  
  
Opening the fridge, she saw the container of orange juice, and grabbed it. Suddenly overcome by thirst, she began to drink it in huge gulps straight from the carton. It was empty when she set it down.  
  
"If Logan saw you do that, he'd have a few things to say, after all the times you've yelled at him about doing that."  
Ororo jumped back, startled, and watched as Jean Grey- Summers, flipped on the kitchen light, and smiled at her.  
  
"I...," Storm stuttered, "You startled me, Jean, I hadn't realized you were there."  
  
"Sorry," Jean replied. "I didn't mean to." She yawned, and walked over to turn on the coffee maker. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."  
  
"Tell them what?"  
  
"About you breaking the cardinal rule of 'spreading unnecessary germs, not to mention the fact that it is revolting.' Jean tried to keep the humor out of her voice as she repeated the very same line that Ororo herself had given Logan more then once.  
  
"Oh, that," Storm said, "I don't know what came over me. I was suddenly so thirsty." She threw the carton in the trash, and turned back to the fridge to see what there was for breakfast. As she came to the realization that Hank's fluffy, sugar and chemical laden pillows of empty calories, more formally known as Twinkies, actually looked good, she began to wonder when a pregnant woman begins to have weird cravings. Twinkies were not something she had ever considered eating before. Now, though, they almost looked good.  
  
"The coffee will be ready in a minute." Jean said, getting down two cups. "So, how were things yesterday? I hope Warren had enough sense to tell everyone that Scott and I were going to be gone."  
  
"What?" Storm said, spinning around.  
  
"My, but aren't you distracted today. Didn't you sleep well?"  
Storm stared at the steaming hot cup that she offered her, and shook her head. "I am sorry Jean, but I am afraid I can't have any."  
  
Jean frowned. "But you always have coffee in the morning. Aren't you feeling well?"  
  
"Yes, I am feeling alright." She replied. Well, here goes nothing. "The thing is Jean, something happened yesterday."  
  
Jean sipped her coffee, and stared at her curiously. "What? Nothing bad I hope."  
  
Ororo felt her mouth play upwards at that. Was bad the word for it? "Nothing I can't get through. Just a bit...shocking. I am pregnant."  
  
Jean choked as the words hit her, and nearly dropped her cup. "What?!"  
  
"It is a bit unexpected I realize." Storm said. "But the even bigger mystery is that I have no idea how it could have happened. Nor do I have the slightest idea who the father could be." Before Jean could respond, she spilled out the entire story, starting when she had went to see Hank the previous morning. When she had finished, she looked over at her friend to gage her reaction. Although Jean was usually a very calm and rational person, Storm was still a little surprised to see that she didn't look at least a little shocked.  
  
"Ororo," she began. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here yesterday. If I had been, you and everyone else could have been spared a lot of unnecessary guilt and anger." She patted her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
Storm turned to her, confused. "What are you talking about, Jean? I am afraid I do not understand."  
  
Jean sighed. "You will shortly. I was so hoping that this would not happen, but I guess it did."  
  
"Will you please tell me what you are talking about? What do you know about this whole thing?" She could only stare at her friend, wondering what in the world she could know about this. The way her heart began to beat furiously against her ribs, her premonition told her that she was not going to like what she had to say.  
  
"I know almost everything, I'm afraid. We must go see the professor immediately." Jean replied, heading toward the stairs. She stopped, and turned. "But first, we have to get Remy and Logan."  
  
Ororo was too stunned to really comprehend what she was saying. "Why, Jean? What is going on?"  
  
Jean gave her friend a small, sad smile. "I know how hard this is going to be for you to hear, Ororo. But I'm afraid that one of them is responsible for getting you pregnant." ----------------------- [1] This may be an opportune time to note that I am not a Remy/Rogue shipper. In fact, Rogue is one of my least favorite characters. Sorry to all those who like her, but they will not be together in any of my fics. 


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again for the reviews! Here are some of the answers you were looking for...but of course it will just lead to more problems...we've only just begun...by the way, in response to one particular review, I guess the aspirin is a fanfiction thing. I'm pretty sure that's where I read it. Oh, also, I understand the one reviewer's concern that Storm's first reaction would not be that she was raped. I guess I was thinking more realistically, rather than canonically. And as far as her thinking it was Remy...well, I think she does have a lot of respect for him. If you just found out that you were pregnant and had no idea how, than you probably would not be thinking clearly either. She knows that he would never do something like that. Sorry if I sound defensive. I didn't mean to. But it's important to me to sound realistic and Storm and Gambit's relationship is something I care about (fictionally speaking, that is). Anyway, hope you enjoy...and thanks again.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A few minutes later, Ororo, Jean and Charles sat in his study, along with Remy and Logan. None looked particularly happy to be there, but all were anxious to hear what Jean had to say.  
  
"I hardly know what to say," Jean said nervously. "I mean, where I should begin."  
  
Charles leaned forward in his hoverchair, studying her. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning. Take your time, there is no hurry."  
  
Jean nodded, glancing at her friends. "Well, this all began a little more than a month ago. Logan, you and Remy had went out to Harry's for a few drinks that night."  
  
"Wait a minute," Remy interrupted. "I don't remember that. Logan and I ain't been to Harry's in longer then a month."  
  
Logan nodded in agreement. "Yeah. He's right."  
  
"Please, let Jean finish," Charles interjected. "There will be plenty of time for you to speak after she is done."  
  
Jean continued, "Ororo, you became worried when it began to get late and they didn't come back. Well, actually, you were kind of mad. You said that you were sick of them going there and trying to drink each other under the table, and then coming home wasted. You said you were going to put a stop to it. You asked to borrow my car to go and get them. I don't remember when you three came home, but you told me the whole story later. All three of you were drunker than sin."  
  
"What?!" Storm exclaimed. "I was drunk? But Jean-I don't remember any of this!"  
  
"That makes two a'us." Logan growled.  
  
"Make that three." Remy added. "What is this, Jeannie?"  
  
A dramatic grin passed over her face as she turned a color that matched her radiant head of hair. "I should not have done it, professor, without consulting you first. But at the time, I thought I had no other choice."  
  
"Done what?" Ororo said, her voice rising several octaves. "I want some straight answers here, Jean! No stalling! Just tell me what you did!"  
  
Jean turned to her, shaking her head sadly. "Alright, Ororo, I will. I used my powers to erase the events from all three of your minds for that entire night."  
  
For a second, no one spoke. Logan, Remy, and Ororo glanced at each other, obviously surprised, and then at Jean. None seemed exactly sure what to say. The professor finally broke the silence. He cleared his throat and said, "Why would you do that Jean?"  
  
Jean, however, directed her answer to Storm. "Because you asked me to."  
  
Remy shook his head in confusion. "Why would she do that?"  
  
"Because, Remy, she wanted to spare the both of you a lot of unnecessary guilt." Jean replied. "You see, it seems that after she got drunk, the three of you, um...got pretty close."  
  
"What?!" Logan exclaimed. "You mean the three of us had sex?!"  
  
"Um...yes." She turned away quickly from his penetrating gaze.  
  
"Mon Dieu," Remy mumbled. "I don't believe it."  
  
Jean turned back to Storm. "Like I said, if I had been here yesterday, I could have explained everything. You came to me late that night, and told me the whole story. You said that you didn't want this to affect your friendships. That you had made a big mistake. I just wanted to help you, so I suggested the memory erase."  
  
"I think we understand that this is not your fault, Jean. You were obviously just trying to offer Ororo a way out." Charles said, and turned to the others. "The memories of the events of that night are still in your minds, simply blocked off. If you wish me to, I could remove the blocks and you will remember everything." He stopped and cleared his throat, normally pale cheeks reddening slightly. "However, if you would rather not remember...  
  
"I, for one, wanna know." Logan said without hesitation. He folded his arms, and glanced at the others to see if they would object. "I have to know what the hell happened that night."  
  
Remy scowled for a minute before nodding. "Me too. No matter how much I may hate myself later." He turned to Storm, and took her hand. "How 'bout you, chere?"  
  
She wasn't sure what to say. Part of her did want to know what had happened, but part of her didn't want to. Outside, she noticed that the sky had grown overcast, as huge gray clouds promised rain. Storm realized that her mood was most likely responsible for it, but she didn't try to change it. Much like herself, the weather looked as if the sun would never shine again. She couldn't look her friends in the eye when she responded with a quiet "yes."  
  
Charles nodded, and said, "Very well. Try to clear your minds of all other thoughts, and relax." His face changed from a look of concern mixed with curiosity to utter concentration. Eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed, Ororo could almost feel him enter her mind. Although she didn't know how it was possible to actually feel anything change mentally, she felt a sudden surge of mental flashback, like a flashlight shining directly into her mind. Harry's Hideaway bar, late at night. Inside, the place is well lit, and clean, as bars go, but the only customers appear to be a tall, lanky man in his early twenties with long auburn hair, and a short, muscular man with a most unusual hairstyle. He looks as if he is in his early forties, but appearances can be deceiving. Remy and Logan, of course, and they are obviously drunk. Ororo walked in over to where they are sitting at the bar. She hears the sounds of the jukebox playing a country song. Although not particularly a fan of country music, she recognizes the song "Cowboy, Take Me Away," by the Dixie Chicks. Standing over her two drunken friends with her hands on her hips, she is too angry to speak. Remy looks up and flashes his stupid grin. At least, it looks stupid on a man who can hardly sit up without falling over, and who reeks of Jack Daniels. "Stormy!" He said excitedly, as if he made some great discovery. "Look, Logan, it's Stormy!"  
  
Logan looked up, and grinned. Because of his healing factor, it was much harder for him to get drunk, not to mention stay drunk. Very rarely did he have to worry about such things as hangovers. Still, he looked as smashed as Storm had ever seen him. "Hey, darlin". Whatcha doing here?" His speech is slurred slightly, making him sound utterly ridiculous. If she had not been so angry, Ororo might have laughed.  
  
"Yes, it most certainly is me. And the reason I am here is to take you two...imbeciles home. Do you know how juvenile and stupid it is for you to be here poisoning your bodies with alcohol? Not to mention inconsiderate. What if something had happened tonight, and we had needed the both of you?" Logan and Remy glanced at each either, and laughed. "I think Stormy mad at us, Logan."  
  
"She's needs a drink to cool down."  
  
Storm glared at them, trying not to let the anger get the best of her. "I can see that neither of you is rational enough for me to discuss this with. For right now, I will simply be happy enough having you home where I don't have to worry about you."  
  
Remy grinned up at her. "But we ain't ready to go home yet, Stormy. Why don't you have a drink with us first? The night still young, chere!"  
  
"No, I am not having a drink, and yes, you are coming home. Right now!"  
  
"Come on, Ro. Don't be such a prude," Logan said. He offered her an unsteady hand holding a shot glass filled to the brim with scotch. "Have a drink, and then we'll go home."  
  
"Logan..." Storm began, but stopped and sighed. What was the point in arguing with them? She certainly couldn't drag the both of them out of the bar kicking and screaming, as much as she wanted to at the moment. "If I have one drink, do you promise you will come with me?" She felt like she was negotiating with children.  
  
Remy nodded emphatically. "Thieves honor, chere." He said, and laughed.  
  
"That does not exactly fill me with confidence." She sat down on a stool. "Alright, let's get this over with."  
  
Logan grinned, and chuckled. It sounded like a cross between a hyena and fingernails on a blackboard. "Here ya go, lady. Bottoms up."  
  
She took the shot glass he offered, and quickly drank down its contents. As she did, she could feel it burn like fire all the way from her throat to her stomach. "Gughya!" She gasped, her throat closing. She was not used to drinking, and now she knew why. "That is the most horrible stuff I have ever tasted in my entire life!"  
  
Remy and Logan both cracked up. "S'not that bad, sister." Logan said, swallowing another round. "Ya get used to it after a few times."  
  
"I do not believe it is anything I want to get used to. Now, may we leave?"  
  
"Aw, Stormy," Remy whined, "we don't wanna leave yet. You jus' got here. Why'ncha have 'not'er drink?" He drunkenly waved the half-empty bottle of scotch in front of her.  
  
"We had a deal, Remy." Even her normally tranquil voice could not hide the obvious irritation that was growing within her. "And you are going to honor your part of it. We are leaving right now." She grabbed his arm to pull him off the barstool. It was clear that he must know she wasn't messing around. Remy toppled over, a quick grab of Logan his only saving grace from the hard floor. "I think she serious, homme. Maybe we better listen to 'er."  
  
Logan nodded. "Yeah," he replied sarcastically. "I guess yer right. Ro's too much of a hard-ass to stay and have a few drinks with us. It might involve actually having fun."  
  
She dropped Remy's arm and glared at Logan. So the truth finally came out. He thought she was a hard-ass who never had fun? "Is that what you really think about me?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "Don't go getting all defensive, darlin'. Some people, like you, for instance, just don't know how to have a good time. I ain't saying it's yer fault. But face the facts, Ro, yer kinda, well..." he paused, and turned to Gambit, "Help me out here, Cajun."  
  
"Boring." Remy supplied.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Storm turned to Gambit as if she had just been stabbed in the back. He was supposed to be her best friend, and he thought she was boring. "How could you say such a thing?" .  
  
He did at least have the decency to look slightly ashamed. "Sorry, chere. But he's right. You can be kinda boring. I mean, I love you to death and all. You my best friend. But don't you ever just wanna go out and have a good time wit'out worryin' 'bout the consequences?"  
  
For a second or two, she didn't reply. Logan and Remy glanced at each other, wondering what she would do. "Don't be mad, chere." Remy said.  
  
Finally, she spoke. "Boring, huh? I'll show you boring." She swiped the bottle of Jack Daniels out of Logan's hand, and poured herself a drink. After she drank that one down, she poured another, and then another. "I'll show the two of you who doesn't know how to have a good time." She turned to Harry, the owner of the bar, who had watched the whole scene from across the room. Not wanting to interfere, he had remained quiet. The people from Xavier's school were some of his best customers after all. "We'll be needing another bottle of this...uh," she glanced at the bottle, but her faculties were already beginning to be effected. "This stuff, whatever it is." She waved the almost empty bottle in the air  
  
"Um, Stormy," Remy began, "you might wanna take it a little slower. You not 'xactly used to all this alcohol."  
  
Storm grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and pulled him hard until they were face-to-face. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" She said with a strange giggle. "Now, shut up and have another drink, swamp rat." She turned to Logan. "You, too, runt."  
  
"Swamp rat?" Remy exclaimed at the same time Logan yelled, "Runt?!" Both turned to Storm with expressions ranging from anger to curiosity. "What?" She asked. "It was just a joke. I was having a good time."  
  
Remy and Logan laughed and sat back down to have some more drinks.  
  
Storm turned to the professor. "I do not believe I need to see any more. I can quite imagine what happened from then on." She felt as though the huge weight of burden that had been bothering her yesterday had returned ten full. What have I done? She thought. First, I accuse my friends of raping me, and then I come to find out that I got drunk and slept with my two best friends. What kind of person am I?  
  
Charles studied Storm closely, and let the psychic link between the four of them brake. "Well, at least now we know how this whole thing came about." That was of little comfort to the three of them, though. Ororo looked as though she wished she could melt away, obviously embarrassed about her actions that night. Logan stood with his arms crossed, a pillar of stone. He was angry, Charles knew, probably mostly at himself, though. Remy looked embarrassed, something that Charles was not used to seeing from him. He avoided eye contact, tapping his foot at a pace that would have been impossible to keep up with. The professor was certainly not relishing in the task that lay before him. It was up to him to help the three of them through this. "Perhaps I should speak to Ororo alone for a minute."  
  
Logan walked over and leaned on the professor's desk. It was obvious that he was pretty upset, and his icy blue eyes blazed as he spoke. "Wait just a flamin' minute here, Chuck. I don't know 'bout Gumbo here, but I for one, am pretty pissed off about this whole thing." He turned to Ororo. "You had no right to have Jeannie here go into my mind, sister, and erase my memory. Now, I realize that this was just as much our fault as yours, probably more, but to go and play around with my memories and then to make crazy accusations about bein' raped. That's just over the line."  
  
Remy turned to him and stood up angrily. "Damnit, Logan, you ain't makin' this any easier for her! I'm jus' a shocked as you that this happen, but you don't have to go makin' it worse."  
  
Logan snorted and narrowed his eyes at the Cajun. He wasn't really as angry as he was acting, but everyone in the room realized what the worst part of it was for him. People in his past had played around with his mind and memories before, and had left him more animal then man. Needless to say, he was a little weary of anyone messing around inside his head. He glared at Ro for a second without speaking, and then turned and stomped out of the office.  
  
Jean watched him go. "I should talk to him," she said. "I'm partly responsible for this, and I think I can get him to listen to me."  
  
Charles nodded his head. "Yes, that would be a good start, Jean. Remy, I think you should go as well."  
  
He started to object, but Storm held up a hand. "He is right, Remy. Please go. I will speak to you later."  
  
He frowned, but reluctantly stood up. "If that's what you want, chere." He mumbled. As he and Jean walked out, she put her arm around his shoulder. "It will be okay. She just needs some time."  
  
Time will not change what has happened. Storm thought, turning to the professor. She felt like crying, or better yet, just flying away. Maybe if I can fly far enough and fast enough this whole thing will go away.  
  
Charles gave her a reassuring smile. I think you know better than that.  
  
The words echoed in her mind as soon as he sent them telepathicly. "You were reading my thoughts." She said, but not accusingly.  
  
"Forgive me. But I believe I know you well enough to say that you are not the kind of person who tries to run-or fly away from their problems." "I have never faced a problem quite so monumental before, Charles." She whispered. "What should I do? I have alienated my friends, angered Logan, and jeopardized my responsibility to the team. Not to mention that I still have a baby to consider."  
  
"As for Logan, Remy, and the rest of the team," he said reassuringly, "I have every confidence that they will forgive you and learn to except that yes, you made a mistake, but that you are only human. Human's make mistakes." He folded his hands, and leaned back in his chair. "As for your baby, the decisions you have regarding it can only be made by you. I, and I'm sure the rest of the team, will support whatever decisions you make."  
  
Storm felt as if her innards were being crushed. "I am not sure what I should do. The situation is much different than it was yesterday. It is not a decision that I must take lightly. A child, my child is depending on me."  
  
Charles nodded. "Don't forget, Ororo, that this child is just as much Logan or Remy's. You should let them in on what you decide to do."  
  
Her mind closed at that realization. I cannot imagine raising a child with either one of them. It is not that I do not trust them, I care very much for the both of them, but I cannot imagine either one of them as a father. She stood, heading for the door. What she needed more than anything was just some time to think. "Thank you for understanding, Charles. I appreciate you not judging me for the inconveniences I have caused the team."  
  
He smiled sincerely. "Sometimes we need some inconveniences around here. Ones that do not involve risking our lives, I mean."  
* * * * * * * Snow was falling so hard around him that even Logan was having a hard time seeing. Bits of ice stuck to his clothes and the exposed skin of his face, stinging his eyes. His breath came out in short frozen puffs, sticking to his nostrils and lips, making it very hard to breathe. His toes had already gone numb, and due to his short frame, the drifts were up to his waist. And he loved it.  
  
Squinting, he struggled to see in the empty waste land of Alberta that he had created, trying his best to fight off snow blindness. There was nothing to see but snow, ice and an occasional glacier. He sniffed the freezing air, trying to pick up some sort of scent. He couldn't smell anything, but he could feel the hair on his back stand on end. He was near. Like a wild animal, possibly the very ones that he had derived his code name from, he was on the hunt. And there was nothing he enjoyed more then the sight and smell of prey. Especially this one, that he had been hunting for as long as he remembered, which, all be it, was not very long.  
He sniffed again. He knew he was near. He felt the snow crunch beneath his boots, and he kept his eyes and ears open. It was futile, he realized, to look for tracks. They would have been almost immediately covered up by snow. He growled impatiently. The wind howled in his ear like a wolf, confusing any possible chances of telling where the scents were coming from. "I know yer here Creed!" He yelled into the wind. "And I'm gonna find ya!" He jammed his claws deep into the side of a solid glacier of ice, meaning to climb it, hoping that at the top he might be able to see better.  
  
He never got the chance. From above, a huge animal let out a bestial roar, and tackled Logan straight to the ground. Landing in the soft snow, he could hardly feel the huge man on top of him, but his weight caused him to be nearly suffocated beneath the much larger man. Logan didn't have to worry for long, though, for a huge paw of a hand grabbed him, and threw him straight at the rock- hard glacier full force. He felt himself hit it, pain surging up his spine. Any normal person would have probably broken every bone in their back. But Logan merely shook it off, and got to his feet.  
  
"You wanted me, runt, and you got me!" Creed's eye's burned into the blinding storm, bright yellow cat eyes. They reminded Logan of a rapid dog. His long time enemy, Victor Creed, also known as Sabretooth, stood like a giant savage creature, too animal- like to be human. But then, Logan had often been mistaken for an animal himself. He let out a yell, and charged at the seven and a half foot tall man, more than two feet taller than himself. But he didn't let that stop him. "You're mine, Creed!"  
  
Amidst the snow and ice, the two landed like two wild animals locked in a battle to the death. Logan felt claws slash at him, and he pushed down with all his strength, trying to keep the man down. Laughter rang out in his ears. "You can't win, runt! You never could, and you never will!" Sabretooth's laugh was like poison, and Logan could see his pointy yellow fang-like teeth. He was close enough to smell his reeking breath, and the man beneath him felt real enough. But, of course, he was not. Logan let out one last scream, and drove his claws hill deep into the hologram. Realistic blood splattered on him, and the creature let out a horrible shriek of pain. Logan felt his face as it was sprayed with spit, and he twisted his claws into the creature's abdomen, enjoying the feeling of his innards being rearranged. The holographic Sabretooth let out one last cry, and shuddered before falling still. Logan sneered with satisfaction, and stood up, ignoring the pain that coursed throughout his body. His healing factor would eventually take care of his injuries, but he was going to hurt for awhile. He gave the body of his foe one last kick, wishing that it was the real Creed.  
  
Suddenly, the body was gone, followed a second later by the snow and the blizzard. Logan was left standing alone in the Danger Room, with only his wounds to show for what had happened. "What the Hell?" He said aloud. He hadn't stopped the program, so obviously someone else had. "What's goin' on?" He yelled, his voice echoing around the now empty steel room.  
  
"It was me, Logan." He heard a voice call. "Computer, lights."  
  
The computer complied, and Jean stepped into the room. Logan growled softly, but resheathed his claws. "What'er you doin' here, Jeannie?"  
  
"Well, for starters, I was wondering what you are doing down here training with the safety restrictions off."  
  
Logan grabbed the towel she offered him, and wiped the sweat and blood of his face. "I can take care of myself, lady. What do you think you're doin' overriding my program?"  
  
Jean frowned at him. He could be so hard-headed. "I had Scott override your program. In case you can't tell, I was worried about you. Even you can be hurt, or killed, without safety restrictions."  
  
He threw the towel on the floor, and headed for the door. "Like I said, I can take care of myself."  
  
Jean followed him. "Logan, wait! I need to talk to you."  
  
He stopped and turned. "About what?"  
  
"I think you know what about."  
  
He snorted and continued walking. "Ain't in the mood, darlin'."  
  
Jean froze him using her telepathic powers. "Hey!" Logan yelled. "Knock it off!"  
  
Standing in front of the man, she raised her eyebrows. "Not until you agree to talk to me."  
  
"Damnit, Jean!" He swore through clenched teeth.  
  
"It's your choice, wild man."  
  
He sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Alright, you win. Start flappin'."  
Jean released her mind, and Logan stumbled back, off balance. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jean to begin.  
  
"Logan," she said. "I know you're upset. With Storm, with me, and with yourself. But locking yourself in the Danger Room isn't going to solve anything. Oh, God, you're bleeding!" She suddenly exclaimed.  
  
"Huh?" Logan asked. Jean immediately ripped off what was left of his body armor, to reveal several very deep gashes. Blood dripped from them freely, and Jean gasped.  
  
"You need to have those looked at, Logan. You could lose a lot of blood by the time your healing factor takes care of them."  
  
He shrugged. "Not that bad." But then, and idea flashed in his mind. "Uh...maybe your right, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna get blood all over Chuck's carpet after all. I'll got see Hank. You can yell at me later for be an insensitive asshole."  
  
Jean cocked an eyebrow. "Well, alright. But you go straight to Hank, you hear me?"  
  
Logan grinned. "Yes, mother."  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Ororo?" Jean called. "Are you here?" She stepped into her loft carefully, unsure as to what kind of mood she would be in. Storm's loft was dark, but Jean suspected that she was here.  
  
"Hello, Jean," came a voice. "Please, do come in."  
  
Jean let out a breath of relief. She seemed to be handling the situation better. She made her way through the jungle of plants to where Ororo was peering out the window. "Dinner is ready. I came to see if you would be eating with us."  
  
Storm pulled herself away from the window. "Yes, I believe I will. I must speak to the rest of the team. I must apologize for my actions yesterday."  
  
Jean shook her head. "That's not necessary. They know that you were just upset."  
  
"Still, it is something I must say."  
  
"You're a very brave person, Ororo. I admire you for your strength in this situation." Her hand was warm upon her friend's shoulder.  
  
Storm smiled. "Thank you, my friend. It helps to know that I have friends like you."  
  
The two women made their way down to the dining room. Everyone was already there, a strange silence following over them when Storm walked in. She was determined not to let that stop her, though. She stood beside her chair in her usual place next to Remy, and looked around the table at her friends. Rogue had cooked, and the unmistakable smell of fried chicken filled the air. "All right," she announced. "Chow down, everyone!" Rogue set a huge pan on the table, and removed the foil covering it.  
  
"All right!" Bobby exclaimed, swiping several pieces. "Fried chicken! My favorite!"  
  
"Hey!" Jean said. "Last night, you said my meat loaf was your favorite."  
  
"It was," he replied with a mouth full of chewed meat. "Last night, that is."  
  
Ororo cleared her throat. "If everyone does not mind, before we eat, I have something to say."  
  
Everyone glanced at each other, and the rattling of pots and pans ceased. Bobby swallowed, and set his chicken down. "Uh, sure Storm. Just don't let the grub get cold." Jean whacked him on the arm, however, and he got the message to shut up. His body was going to be a massive mess of bruises if he didn't learn to hold his tongue.  
  
Ororo took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell all of you that I am very sorry about yesterday. I jumped to some wild conclusions, and I had no right to. Now that I know what really happened, I am able to think about this much clearer. I hope in time that you can forgive me." With a breath of relief, she sat down. There, short and sweet. An immense feeling of relief washed over her.  
  
For a second, no one spoke. Then, almost on cue, they all began speaking at once. "We forgive you, Ro." Warren said.  
  
"Your feelings were very understandable." Bishop added.  
  
"I am happy that you have the answers you need." Kurt said.  
  
"As am I." Hank agreed. "Yeah," Bobby interjected, "It's gonna be kinda cool having a little kid running around." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Um...you are going to keep it aren't you?"  
  
Once again, the conversation ceased and all eyes turned to Storm. She felt Remy take her hand, and squeeze it reassuringly. "Well, Robert, it is something I will have to consider further. But, most probably, I will be keeping it. That is, if the Professor and everyone does not object."  
  
"Of course we don't." "That is so cool." "It'll be neat to have a child around here." "Hey, I'll baby-sit anytime." Various positive responses echoed through the room. Storm smiled happily, glad that her teammates were being so supportive.  
  
"'The babe in arms is a channel through which the energies we call fate, love, and reason visibly stream.' Ralph Waldo Emerson." Hank said, grinning broadly. Bobby rolled his eyes, but knew that if he commented it would mean another whack from Jean.  
  
"Yes, I agree, Hank." The professor said. "Having a child around would make our dream seem more real. After all, he or she may be the next generation of X-Men."  
  
The gray of the sky was already rapidly turning back to late- August bright blue with only Ororo's happiness to guide it. "Thank you all for your support. It means a lot to me."  
  
"Me, too." Remy added. "Since the baby may be mine."  
  
"I am sure our friend Logan will come to see that as well." Hank said. Suddenly, everyone looked around, realizing for the first time that he was missing.  
  
"Hey, speaking of Logan, where is he?" Warren asked.  
  
Scott snorted. "It's not like him to be on time for anything, you know."  
  
"He's never late for my fried chicken, though." Rogue pointed out.  
  
"He was supposed to go and see you, Hank, almost an hour ago," Jean informed them. "He had some pretty bad cuts that needed medical attention."  
  
Beast shook his furry blue head, confused. "I am afraid that I have not seen him all day. If he was indeed headed to see me, he never arrived."  
  
"It figures," Scott grumbled. "You know how he is when it comes to following orders. Even if they're for his own good." No one replied, but they knew he was right. Logan had butted heads with everyone at one point or another when it came to doing something he didn't want to do.  
  
"I will get him." Kurt offered, and before anyone could say anything else, he teleported from his seat in a cloud of smoke.  
  
"Man," Bobby said, shaking his head. "That dude is so lucky. That is like the coolest power ever."  
  
"Yes, I agree," Hank said, glad to divert the team's attention away from Logan momentarily. "In my spare time, I have been trying to work on a device that will, in essence, duplicate our comrade Nightcrawler's teleportation powers. I feel that they could be an invaluable contrivance to the team. I also sense that I am very close to a breakthrough."  
  
Storm poked at her dinner, listening as the professor and Hank went into a very technical and hard-to-follow discussion on how something like that would be accomplished, and what techniques Beast had tried so far. Not being the science geniuses that they were, she had no idea what they were talking about. All she could think of was how to make Logan understand that she was not angry with him, so there was no point in being angry with himself.  
  
After a minute or so, Kurt returned amidst another puff of smoke. He shrugged his shoulders. "He is not in his room. And what's more, most of his clothes are gone, as is his jeep, I checked the garage."  
  
"What?" Scott exclaimed. "He just took off like that, without telling anyone!"  
  
"It wouldn't be the first time." Jean pointed out.  
  
Everyone began talking at once. Ororo shrank back in her seat. Feelings of guilt and anger passed through her. How could he leave at a time like this? How could he be so insensitive? She turned to Remy and shook her head.  
  
He gave her a small smile. "Don't worry, chere. Logan'll be back eventually. Probably jus' needed some time to think."  
  
"Yes, I am sure you are right." But inwardly she had to wonder if maybe the possibility of being a father had been too much for him. She knew that he had helped to raise several other children throughout the years, but that was different from having one that you helped create. That you were legally and biologically bound to. And certainly, the circumstances of this child being created were not the best imaginable. One thing was for sure, it was going to be a long couple of months. If only she knew now whether Remy or Logan was the father. She spent the rest of dinner silent, listening to her friends discuss her baby, and Logan's leaving. Had her life really changed so much so quickly?  
  
Please stay tuned for chapter five...and review! Thanks! 


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again to those who reviewed! Yeah...I know they were all bad little X-men, but they're only human after all. Mutants are human, as we all know. Anyway, I wanted to get this part of right away because...well, it's important. Thanks again!  
* * * * * * * *  
  
September  
  
Much like the artificial reality he had created just two weeks ago in the Danger Room, in Alberta, Canada there was a steady fall of snow mixed with the occasional familiar blasts of icy northern wind. Logan had spent more time in this part of the world than any other, or at least that was what he was led to believe. But either way, he belonged here. The ice, the snow, the cold, the nothingness...they all fit his personality. Despite the fact that he was a member of the X-Men, an important one at that, he knew, he would never completely fit in. Though there were times he wanted to, he would always be a part of the cold, harsh reality of the North. Bread n'Butter, he thought.  
  
Just outside the small, remote hunting village known as Cold River Place, he kept a cabin, something no one knew. At least he didn't think so. It was his escape whenever he felt too cramped in back in the sticks. In a way, it was a form of claustrophobia. Not as bad as Storm's, but he still felt the occasional itch to get away from all the people and the noise. And especially all the bullshit. The bullshit of being a mutant, the bullshit of having the kind of life he did, not knowing who or what he really was...all of that. Even the bullshit of being an X-Man. It wasn't that it didn't mean a lot to him to be a member of that team. It really did. More than anyone knew, as a matter of fact, but still, that itch arose every now and then. And he learned a long time ago that he was better off just obeying it.  
  
Cold River Place had about a hundred or so permanent residents and maybe a thousand seasonal ones that showed up simply to hunt caribou and elk, and some to ice fish. The town saw snow ¾ of the year so there was almost no point in paved roads and the 'town' consisted of a general store that sold near everything, but most people shopped mainly for guns, ammo, and hunting and fishing supplies. There was a small school that covered all grades from kindergarten to twelfth grade and had maybe a total of thirty kids attending it in a good year. The last graduate of Cold River High School had been three years ago. The point was, the place was small. Logan liked it that way, that's why he built his cabin here. The people didn't look close, probably most had never even seen a mutant, let alone suspect that he was one. Here he was just a guy, a normal person who lived a normal life and didn't worry about such things as his screwed up past, and uncertain future.  
  
The only other thing of noteworthiness in Cold River Place was a bar/restaurant called The Albatross Bar and Grill. A stupid name, Logan had always thought. An albatross was a huge seabird that lived only near water, and there was probably not a single one in the whole country of Canada. But whatever, they served a pretty good bottle of beer, and somehow managed to make a decent burger. That was enough for him.  
  
The owner of the bar was a weird little man by the name of Steve MacDonald. He, along with his mental brother Herbie, the bouncer and 'cook' and his loud-mouth other brother Charlie, the m.c., constituted almost the entire work-force of The Albatross. There was one waitress, Laura or something like that, who annoyed Logan to no end with her constant giggling and flirting, but that was it. During the majority of the year, this was more than enough staff to keep the place up and running, but during hunting season when the place was much busier they sometimes hired some of the locals to help out.  
  
Besides the fact that it was the only place in thirty miles to get a cold beer, the only other thing the place had to offer was cage fighting. An actual cage, maybe twenty-foot square was erected in the center of the bar, and every night big sweaty men would get inside of it and try to beat the shit of each other. Funny as Hell to watch, even more fun to actually do.  
  
It was a Friday, the night the bar was the most full, and the night the cage-fighting champion would take on all-comers. Right now, that champion was none other than Logan. He arrived at the place some time in the early evening, before the joint got too crowded, and had a seat at the bar. Uncomfortable wooden stools that dug into your groin like a nut cup, but some how strangely relaxing. The little midget owner, Steve, was at his usual place behind the bar, cleaning glasses. Steve was short, bald, and one of the weirdest people Logan had ever met. But he liked the guy. He didn't take crap, for one thing, and he knew the score. Important things, in his book.  
  
"Well, if it ain't ol'Jim. How you are, eh?" The man had the strangest accent Logan had ever heard, not really Canadian, but definitely not American. He had never been able to pin-point why exactly he talked to way he did. Logan jerked his head in greeting.  
  
"What's goin' on, Stevie?"  
  
"The usual, you know. Fuckin' snow, and cold. Not good for business. But can't complain, I guess, eh?" He snorted a strange little laugh.  
  
Logan gave him a lop-sided grin. I could complain, he thought bitterly. But I doubt it'l do a damn bit of good. "Gimme the usual, Steve-o." Steve MacDonald tottled off to fetch him a bottle of Fang Ripley, a native brew of the not-too-far away Vancouver. Nice and strong, but not sludgy like some of that imported European crap.  
  
That night, like most of the previous nights, he found his thoughts turning to Ororo and what had happened the day he took off. He wished to Hell it hadn't happened. Not so much the whole I just-screwed-my-friend-and-teammate-thing-and got-her- pregnant, but how it came out. Ro probably hated him for taking off the way he did, but he had freaked, in a way. He wasn't sure why it had bothered him so much, but it did. The thought of having a baby, the thought of Jeannie messin' around in his head, the thought of everyone in the whole flamin' institute knowing what he and Ro and Gumbo did that night...well, it wasn't a happy thought. Granted, they must have all been pretty smashed, but even so. The fact remained that Storm was pregnant. Pregnant with a baby that had a 50/50 chance of being his, and the thought of permanent and unrelenting fatherhood scared him more than any of his normal adversaries. A baby...Jesus H. Christ.  
  
Still, it had been almost a month. He had already convinced himself that he wasn't running away, just...putting things in perspective. And he was ready to go back...soon anyway. He had to make things right sometime. Discuss things with Ro, as much as he didn't want to. She was an incredible woman, and a hell- of-a leader, one of the few people who had his complete respect, and he valued her friendship. Maybe that's why this whole thing is pissing me off. I know I don't wanna lose her as a friend. Well, something like that anyway.  
  
"Eh, Jim, you alright?" Steve asked, snapping him out of his self-induced trip down the life and times of what the fuck do I do when I get a friend pregnant, only I don't know for sure that I'm the father?  
  
Taking a sip of his beer, Logan shook his head. "I'm fine. Jus' got some things on my mind, s'all." The Ripley was delicious, cold and sweet. Certainly more real to him than the situation he'd somehow found himself into.  
  
"You think 'bout who you fight t'nihgt, eh?" The little man gave him a funny smile as if he knew some dark secret of his and he was sharing his thoughts. Showed what he knew.  
  
"Nah," Logan replied. "I don't worry 'bout things like that. Whatever happens in the ring, happens." I wish that was the only problem I had.  
  
"Talk 'round here say no one can beat ya, eh?" Steve added with a little snorty laugh.  
  
Shrugging, he polished off the last of his beer and slammed the bottle back down on the bar. "Maybe so, bub. Maybe so." I know it's so.  
  
That night started like all the others since he's started coming here, the typical wet ends who didn't know the first damn thing about fighting, and truthfully, Logan wasn't having as much fun as he normally did. What fun was it to fight someone who was no match for you? He half-hoped that even his mortal enemy Sabretooth would show up. As much as he hated the man with every fiber of his being at least he would make him break a sweat. These clowns were a waste of his time.  
  
Finally, after going less than two rounds with his final opponent, he was going to call it quits. If I can't even get a decent workout, then what the Hell's the point of being here? The crowds, normally packed in the bleachers had started to dwindle away, and there didn't look like there was going to be anyone left who wanted an ass-whipping, so Logan went back to his corner, and grabbed his shirt, using it to wipe the blood and sweat from his face. Hell, Jubilee could give me more of a run for my money than these fools, he thought with a sneer. Suddenly, he was sick of this whole thing. Sick of the smell of sweat and puke, sick of the cold, sick of Cold River Place. He wanted to get back home. Home...well, at least the closest thing he had to one.  
  
"Hey," a voice called from somewhere in the bleachers. "You, in the ring."  
  
Logan turned, surprised. "You talkin' to me?" He asked, vaguely aware that he came off sounding like Robert De Niro from Taxi Driver.  
  
The person who belonged to the voice was a guy he had never seen before. Immediately, his feral instincts kicked in, and he summed the man who was now climbing in the ring. Medium-height. Short, close-cropped blondish hair with very dark brown eyes. Almost black, in fact. He looked about thirty-five or so, with a decent build rippling under tanned skin. He spoke with a surprisingly high-pitched voice, yet commanding at the same time. "Yeah, you," he replied in response to Logan's question. "I've been watching you fight for a couple of days now. You're good, real good."  
  
He had a strange smell, like rotting meat, Logan thought, only half-listening. He had a habit of doing that. Most people didn't say much worth listening to anyway. Turning away he mumbled thanks or some sort of nonchalant remark.  
  
"My name's Barry Statler," the man continued anyway, as if he cared. "And you are...Jim, isn't it?"  
  
Logan climbed out of the ring, throwing on his scuffed up old Leather jacket on top of his now sweat and blood-stained shirt. "Yeah, sure," he said in the direction of the guy. "Jim'll do." Of course, in reality, he hadn't the foggiest idea what his real name was, but Jim was a common alias he used. Nice and simple, and more importantly not very memorable.  
  
"The thing is, Jim," Barry Statler said, now following him over to the bar. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in a job."  
  
Logan paused upon hearing this, vaguely intrigued. Not so much in the actual job, but in just who this guy really was. Strange people who watch you beat the crap of guys and then turn around and offer you jobs don't happen every day. Steve already had a beer waiting for him, as well as his share in the winnings for the night. He gave him a jerk of the head as his way of thanks and headed for the door. "What kinda job?" He asked.  
  
Statler followed. "You ever heard of the Friends of Humanity?"  
  
Logan stepped outside, but stopped himself so quickly he nearly fell over. "The Friends of Humanity?" He asked, sure he hadn't heard right.  
  
"That's right. You've heard of us?"  
  
The snow was really starting to come down now, and already the almost pleasant warmness of the bar was wearing off. No longer interested in the least, Logan flipped up the collar of his jacket and started scanning the area, trying to find where he'd left his jeep. He'd better start heading for the cabin before it got much worse and he couldn't. "I've heard of you," he spat at the man. "And what I've heard, I don't like, bub."  
  
Judging from the reaction on the man's face, Barry Statler looked pretty surprised. He had been so sure that this man was going to be his organizations next recruit. "That wasn't exactly the reaction I expected," he said. "Maybe you don't know as much as you think, friend. You see, we believe in purifying the human race. Eradicating that mutant plague that is gripping the country. You would make an ideal candidate for us."  
  
Logan almost had to grin at that. An ideal candidate for the Goddamn Friends of Humanity. Hardy Flamin' ha ha. Crunching his way through the now twelve or so inches of fresh powder, he turned to Statler. "I don't think I'd make such a good 'candidate'. In fact, I'm the last guy you'd want for your little club."  
  
"Why?" Barry Statler said, following him. The wind was Hell, blowing so hard that even with Logan's hearing he could barely hear him. Not that that was such a bad thing, but it whistled and stung, freezing tiny bits of ice in his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket for his keys. "Trust me, you don't want me." He replied adamantly. All he wanted to do was get out of this blizzard and get to his cabin. Why couldn't this freak get that through his thick blond head?  
  
Barry Statler was now getting kind of mad himself. He had already told the head of the F.O.H. that he was sure he had found the right man. He hated turning around and telling him that the guy turned out to be a mutie lover or something. "I saw you in the ring," he shouted. "You liked beating on those guys. I saw it in your eyes. Don't you get it, man. Join us, and you can do that to freaks every day!"  
  
Logan growled and slammed shut his jeep's door. He had wanted this to just end, this guy to go away and leave him the Hell alone, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. "Freaks, huh?" He roared, unsheathing his claws before spinning around. Six-twelve inch blades of solid adamantium gleamed even through the dark storm. "Well, then, I guess that would make me a freak. You wanna beat on me, 'friend'?"  
  
Logan would have bet that seeing them would have scared the shit out of the man. It did with almost everybody else, but not Barry Statler. He narrowed his eyes dangerously. Logan was pretty sure it wasn't do the weather. "You're a mutie..."  
  
"That's right, bub. You still want me for your club?"  
  
Instead of replying, the blond man grinned. It was a horrible grin, lopsided with misshapen lips, portraying evil in its purist form, the same evil that all the X-Man associated with this organization. It was not a good sign, Logan immediately recognized that, and it was only his feral reflexes that saved him from what happened next. "Well, then," Statler said. "If I can't recruit you, I guess I'll just have to do the next best thing." He reached inside of his ski jacket and pulled out a small plasma rifle, aiming it right between Logan's eyes. "I'll kill you."  
  
The gun went off, missing its target by mere inches. Logan jumped with all the force he could manage given that the snow was up to his knees, and dove out of the way. As it was, it was a close enough call for him to smell the burnt hairs on his head the high-powered weapon sliced off. He landed hard in the soft, cold powder and was back on his feet in two seconds. Staler had the gun aimed at him again. "Die mutie," he screamed into the howling wind. Once again, Logan was forced to dive out of the way. This time, he didn't land quite as smoothly, and the impact of the ground was enough to take his breath away. His jaw clamped down, and blood squirted out from his tongue. A familiar taste, but it was enough to really awaken him to what was going on here. This guy meant business. So despite the throbbing in his mouth and chest, he hopped up, managing to crawl behind the relative safety of his jeep. Several more of the silent, but deadly shoots rang out, taking out his driver side window. Bits of glass flew every which way, landing on Logan like sharp shards of ice. "You can't hide from me!" Statler cried. And sure enough, Logan heard the crunching of snow as went after him.  
  
Painfully, he made his way to his feet. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, stumbling to get around to the other side. Damn healing factor, you sure are taking your time...As if he didn't already know the answer. Killing mutants was what these fools did. He crept around his now relatively war-torn vehicle, wondering how he could surprise the man.  
  
"It's nothing personal," Statler's voice rang out above the wind. "I just don't wanna live in the same world as a clawed freak like you."  
  
Ah, and I thought we were getting to be such good friends...Walking as quietly as he could, he placed both hands on the hood. Statler, now near the bumper, fired, but only managed to take out more of what used to be the jeep's interior. Now was the time. He pushed himself up on the hood, and like some sort of wild animal, he pounced. If he screwed this up, he would be dead. But he didn't. He felt his boots as he kicked off the car and with claws straight out, he let out a bestial roar and made contact. The impact of the move sent both men flying back several feet, and with a loud thud that could be heard despite the storm, they landed in the nearly waist-high whiteout. It was so much like his holographic fantasy from a few days ago that it was hard for Logan to remember that this man was not Sabretooth. The minute they hit, Statler kicked up, landing a perfectly timed thrust to Logan's chest, knocking him off, but still he managed to land on his feet, claws bared. "I don't wanna kill you!" he yelled.  
  
The gun was pointing at him once again. The evil of Barry Statler's grin was transformed to the two dark holes of his eyes, visible even in the blinding snow. "That's too bad, mutie, 'cause I wanna kill you." He fired, and it was like slow motion. The bright light of the gun came out, and Logan timed his move perfectly. Ducking the beam, he lunged at the F.O.H. soldier, and the last thing Barry Statler saw was the sneer on his adversary's face. He felt the familiar twinge of pure indestructible adamantium ripping clean through flesh and bone. The expression on his victim's face changed from disgust to pure shock as Logan pulled away and the man dropped into the snow. He shook for a second, as if he were trying to get up, probably to get to his weapon, but in the end, a red bubble of blood dripped from his mouth and he fell, never to get up again.  
  
Logan stared at the body of the man he'd just killed. It was certainly not the first man he'd killed, far from it, in fact. But still, he wished it hadn't happened. Taking a deep breath of frosty air, he knelt beside him. "Jesus, why'd you make me do that to you?" Goddamn F.O.H., he thought contemptuously. They think they're trying to save mankind, and instead all they do is cause more death.  
  
Meanwhile, at the bar, Steve MacDonald, hearing the commotion, came outside. "Eh, Jim, something goin' on out here?"  
  
Logan was far enough away that he was reasonably sure the body couldn't be seen. "No, s'alright, Steve-o. Nothin' goin' on here." He turned back to what was left of Barry Statler. Why does my life have to be this way?  
  
By the by- I know this place sounds curiously like the place in the beginning of the first movie. But it just fit so perfectly. 


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to those who are reading and reviewing! A special thanks to my new 'friend for life', BJ2. Hope you enjoy because there's no going back from here! Coming up is...well, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you...  
  
November  
  
Storm paused in front of the open refrigerator and grabbed out a Twinkie. Yumm. Sugar. Refined chemicals and artificial flavorings. Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved the cake into her mouth, fully enjoying its firm yet squishy texture. I can see now why Hank finds these things so irresistible. She paused, considering having another. Goddess, what is wrong with me? I can't believe I am poisoning my baby with these things. The last week or so, she had been having unusual late night cravings. Things like Twinkies that had never appealed to her before suddenly were hard now to avoid. She was finally over her morning sickness, but at four months pregnant, she wondered how long these cravings would go on.  
  
Ororo managed to resist the temptation of a second Twinkie, and settled for a glass of milk. She had heard that some women cannot stand even the sight of milk while pregnant, but for some reason she craved it almost as much as Twinkies. Taking her milk, she let the fridge door close, and the kitchen became dark once again. Glancing at the clock in the hallway, she saw that it was nearly one in the morning. I should be asleep. Hank said that I'm not getting enough rest. But she couldn't sleep. She had been suffering from insomnia of late, and frequently had been keeping hours that even Remy would have even found tiresome. Speaking of Remy, I wonder if he is home yet. If he is drunk, I will kill him. She smiled to herself, but she was only half kidding. Ever since she had found out that he may be the father of her baby, she had been lecturing him about his drinking. Not to mention his smoking, late hours, and philandering. He was simply going to have to prove himself capable of being a father. Certainly he was not acting very responsible. She sighed, wondering if she was being too hard on him. She hadn't been very responsible herself a few months ago, and look what that led to. But ever since Logan had taken off, she had all but resigned her hopes to Remy being the father. Logan obviously did not want the responsibility.  
  
Just as she was about to head back to her loft to try to sleep, she noticed that the professor's light was on in his study. Doesn't he ever sleep? She wondered. She decided to go say good-night, maybe talk to him for a minute. She wasn't ready to go to bed yet anyway. The door to his study was open, and Ororo was about to walk in when she heard voices. Someone was already in there. It sounded like Scott.  
  
She shrugged, not wanting to interrupt, and was about to walk away when she heard Scott say something that froze her in her tracks.  
  
"Don't get me wrong, professor, I like Ororo very much. She has certainly proven herself to the team more times than I can count. But what about now? How can she possibly lead one of the teams into battle knowing that she has a baby at home to take care of?"  
  
Storm frowned. They were obviously talking about her. What on Earth could he mean? She knew that their conversation was private and that she should leave, but her curiosity got the best of her. She leaned quietly against the wall, hoping that Charles would not pick up on her presence.  
  
It seemed that either he did not, or was not letting on if he was. "I see your point, Scott. It is something that I have considered myself these past months. But I did not make it a prerequisite for being an X-Man that you have no children."  
  
She heard Scott sigh deeply. "What if she were to be hurt, God forbid, or killed? What then? What would happen to her child?"  
  
Charles let out a slight laugh. "I understand that you are trying to cover all the bases, but you are forgetting something here. This baby has a father to take care of it, also."  
  
Scott snorted. "Oh, yeah. Gambit. Come on, Professor, what does that guy know about being a father? He's not even responsible enough to take care of himself! And it's obvious Wolverine sure isn't going to. We don't even know if he's ever coming back."  
  
"Storm understood the risks of being an X-Man when she joined the team. I am positive that she would not want to be treated any different now just because she has a child. I'm sure she can handle the responsibility of being a team leader as well as the responsibility of a mother."  
  
"But she will be treated different!" Scott protested. "Everyone is going to go out of their way to protect her for the sake of her baby. And, frankly, that bothers me a little, professor. It could put everyone else in danger."  
  
"No one tries to protect you any more for the sake of Jean."  
  
"That's different. Jean's an adult. We understand the risks. A child can't understand."  
  
Charles sighed. "I think you are worrying about nothing here, Scott. I am sure that as reasonable adults, we can work around the fact that Ororo and Remy...or Logan, if he decides to come back, will have a child to think about. Nothing really has changed."  
  
"I just don't think that Storm took all this into consideration when she decided to keep the baby. Whether she wants to admit it or not, it will be a lot harder for her to do her job knowing that she has a baby to take care of. I mean, how can we expect her to worry about Magneto's plundering or the latest victim of the Friends of Humanity when she has potty training and the Tooth Fairy on her mind?"  
  
Charles laughed softly. "I know you're just looking out for what's best for the team, Scott. But I'm telling you, I wouldn't worry about it. Storm can handle the situation, I assure you."  
  
Storm heard footsteps, and she quickly made her way to the stairs so she wouldn't be seen. She watched from the second floor as Scott said good-night to the professor and headed to his bottom level room he shared with Jean. Wondering if she should say anything or not, she just stood there. Truthfully, she hadn't thought that Scott or anyone else was this concerned about her having a baby. He thinks I won't be able to lead just because I will have a child. That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. A twinge of anger stabbed at her toward the man for discussing this with the professor, rather than coming to her with his concerns. With a shrug, she turned and made her way to her loft, determined not to let it bother her. Scott was known for often being concerned with nothing, but that was one of the reasons he was so successful as a leader. There was no possible outcome that could occur that he hadn't already planned for in most situations. Perhaps that was the reason he was sometimes considered to be, as Logan would so elegantly put it, a hard ass. He's wrong, I'm sure of it. I can be both an X-Men and a parent. As much as she tried, however, his words would not leave her mind completely. All through that long night, Ororo replayed in her mind what she had heard, and she tried unsuccessfully to convince herself that Scott was wrong.  
* * * * * * * *  
  
At breakfast the next morning, Ororo could barely keep her eyes off of Scott, trying to decide whether or not she should speak to him about what she had heard, fully realizing that if she did, she would have to admit that she had been listening. Scott, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on, and as he sipped his coffee, he wondered why Storm kept looking at him. She was making him uncomfortable.  
  
Setting down the newspaper that he had been trying to read, he cleared his throat and said, "Um, Storm...Don't take this the wrong way, but why do you keep staring at me?"  
  
She felt her face burn, not realizing he had noticed. "I'm sorry, Scott. I didn't mean to, it's just..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well," she began. Hear goes nothing. "Last night, I...well...um...never mind, it's not important." She was suddenly not in the mood for a confrontation. Averting his gaze, she returned to her breakfast. Why bother bringing it up? What good would it do?  
  
Scott raised an eyebrow, and set down his paper. He didn't believe her for a second, but wasn't going to press the issue. "Okay. If you say so. If you see Gambit, would you remind him that he and I are scheduled for a Danger Room drill at 1300 hours." He got up from the table, and snorted rudely before mumbling, "That is, if he decides to grace us with his presence before then."  
  
"Yes, I shall tell him." Ororo replied. Just seconds after Scott had left, Remy came stumbling into the dining room as if on cue. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he had spent the morning bowing to the porcelain God. Storm watched as he staggered over to a chair, plopped down, and promptly let his head fall to the table.  
  
It took every once of restraint she had not to throttle him. As it was, she groaned at the pathetic sight of him plastered to the 19th century Tudor. "Well, this answers my question about what you were doing last night."  
  
Remy moaned. "Please don't lecture me 'Roro. My head hurt 'nough as it is."  
  
"Good riddance. I hope it does hurt. When will you ever learn?"  
  
"Damn, but ain't that a mean thing to say." Remy opened an eye drowsily, and glanced at her. "Something wrong, Stormy?"  
  
The only answer he received was a standard "don't call me that." Storm went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee. She set it down in front of him. "Here. You had better drink this."  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled. He took a sip, and made a face. "Blech. Tastes like mud."  
  
"Scott made it."  
  
He nodded, pushing it away. "That 'splain it then."  
  
"Speaking of Scott," Ororo said, "he asked me to remind you that you are to drill with him in the Danger Room at 1300 hours."  
  
Remy's head conveniently fell back against the hard wood. "Damn it. He always know when I'm not in the mood to deal with him. Always makin' some sorta smart-ass comment. Even when I be kicking his ass he still lecturin' me on what I'm doing wrong."  
  
Storm nodded. "Yes, I know what you mean."  
  
"You do?" He looked up just enough for the surprise to regester on his face.  
  
"Yes, well..." I shouldn't tell him. He will only overreact. But in the end, she did, as it concerned him as well, "Last night, I overheard Scott talking to the professor. He was questioning my abilities to be on the team once I have the baby."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I believe he thinks that I will not be able to be both an X- Men and a mother." She told him everything that she had heard.  
  
When she finsished, Remy looked mad enough to spit. "What a pompous asshole. Don't listen to 'em, chere. He don't know what the hell he's talkin' 'bout."  
  
"Yes, perhaps."  
  
"There ain't no 'perhaps' 'bout it." He slammed his fist against the table. "I oughta go say a few choice things to that..."  
  
Storm grabbed his arm before he could get up. "No, you will not." He turned, confused. "Please, Remy. Don't fly off the handle because of this. It's really no big deal."  
  
"The Hell it ain't. If Jean was pregnant, you think he'd be worrying 'bout whether she could still be an X-Man?"  
  
"The circumstances would be a bit different."  
  
"That not the point, chere."  
  
Storm stood up, and for at least the millionth time that last month, forgot how much harder it is when your stomach sticks out like a watermelon. "Forget about Scott, Remy. If you need something to worry about, concentrate on how upset I will be if you come home drunk again."  
  
"I'm a legal adult, 'Roro. Why you care what I do in my spare time?" Resting his head on his arms, he preceded to close his eyes, apparently hoping that the spinning demon of Jack Daniels would leave his body if he did.  
  
She glared at him, but knew he couldn't see. "I can't believe you would even have to ask such a stupid question." Leaving him to the miseries of his hangover, she left the room. She had made an appointment to see Hank after breakfast for her four month check-up.  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"I assure you that your weight is fine, Ororo. You're baby is developing perfectly, and you had to realize that you would start to look pregnant by now."  
  
Storm sighed at Hank, slightly irritated that he managed to look so amused. "I guess I didn't realize that being pregnant would make me feel so fat. My stomach looks as if I swallowed a semi."  
  
Hank laughed. "I think you are overreacting just a wee bit. You still have a long while to go. By the eighth or ninth month, then it would be more appropriate for you to compare your likeness to a semi."  
  
"You are not making me feel much better, Hank."  
  
"Sorry," he replied. "Well, now that we have checked your weight and blood pressure, and listened to the baby's heart beat, I believe we are finished unless you have any questions."  
  
Storm sat up on the exam table, frowning. "Yes, I have many questions. For instance, how can I convince Remy that he is quickly becoming a drunk, and that he needs help? And why has Logan taken off without a word, and what can I do to make him come back? And will I be able to be both a mother and a team leader? And...  
  
"That was not exactly what I had in mind when I asked if you had any questions, my dear." Hank interrupted, looking slightly overwhelmed. "I assumed you realized I meant ones directly pertaining to your pregnancy."  
  
She smiled. "I knew what you meant. But my mind houses so many other questions like those that I doubt I have room for any more."  
  
Hank raised his eyebrows, and sat down. "Well, as your doctor and friend, it is my duty to help you with all your problems. As for Remy and Logan, I am at a loss. It is still my opinion that Logan will show up one of these days. And perhaps Remy, when it sinks in that he may be about to be a father, he will realize that he must give up his extracurricular activities. And as for you, whatever made you think that you could not be both a mother and a team leader?"  
  
Storm started to reply, when all of a sudden, she heard loud shouting coming from the floor above them. World War III would have been an understatement. Hank jumped up, knocking over his chair in the process. "What in the world is that?" He asked.  
  
She closed her eyes briefly, realizing who the voices belonged to. "I believe, Hank, that is the answer to your question."  
  
She and Hank went upstairs just in time to see Scott and Remy doing there best to get at each other's throats. Bishop and Bobby were trying to hold them back, but were not having an easy time of it.  
  
"You a real prick, Summers, you know that?" Remy yelled, trying unsuccessfully to break free of Bishop's hold. Unfortunately for him, though, Bishop was several inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier. And he was not about to let him go.  
  
"Coming from you, LeBeau, that's a compliment." Scott said with an angry sneer. Hank stepped in between the two of them, or rather, the four of them. "My friends," he began, holding out two long hairy blue arms. "What in the name of Heaven has gotten into the two of you?" He turned to Scott, confusion etched on his furry face. "This, especially, is not like you."  
  
Scott shook free of Bobby and glared at Hank contemptuously. "I'm sick of his bullshit, and I'm not going to put up with it anymore!"  
  
Hank cleared his throat. "To what 'bullshit', may I ask are you referring?"  
  
"Yeah, enlighten us, mon ami."  
  
Scott pointed his finger at Gambit accusingly. "He disengaged the safety protocols without telling me when we were down in the Danger Room. He could have gotten us both killed!"  
  
Storm stepped in and stared at her friend in disbelief. "Why on Earth would you do such a thing?" She asked.  
  
"Thought it was 'bout time Scotty got a lesson in leadership," Remy said, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "That is to say, what happens when you don't know when to keep your big mouth shut."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Scott replied.  
  
Storm sighed. "I do. He was mad about what you said to the professor last night." She quickly explained the situation.  
  
Scott looked no less angry at the realization, however. He turned to Storm and said, "You had no right to spy on us! That was a private conversation between me and the professor!"  
  
Remy shot forward in an unsuccessful attempt to break free of Bishop. "You the one not have the right, Summers! You ain't got a right even havin' an opinion on the matter of our baby!"  
  
Scott snorted, an amused grin playing at his lips. "I like the way you refer to it as your baby. And I most certainly do have the right to have whatever conversations I want. It is my job as team leader to make sure that everyone else can perform their jobs. I was merely voicing a concern."  
  
"I'll show you concern, you son-of-a..." Remy growled, lunging forward, this time managing to get away from Bishop. Luckily, Hank caught him before he reached Scott, who nervously backed up a few steps.  
  
"Stop it!" Storm demanded. "Both of you! I will not have you fight over something like this!" She turned to Remy, her voice pleading for him to listen to reason. "Please, Remy, you are overreacting. Scott did have a right to go to the professor, and I was wrong to listen in on their conversation."  
  
"Thank you." Scott mumbled.  
  
Ororo glanced in annoyance at the man. "I would appreciate it, however, if the next time you have concerns directly related to either my child or myself that you come to me first."  
  
Scott raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Okay..."  
  
"I would appreciate it."  
  
Remy snorted and folded his arms across his chest. He didn't like that she was letting him off so easily. Scott narrowed his eyes, getting that all too familiar "lecture time" look in his face, but he was not about to take it. He turned and headed wordlessly out of the room. The other four watched him go, but only Storm went after him.  
  
"Where are you going?" She asked.  
  
His hand already on the front door, he turned to give her a small smile. "Jus' out for awhile."  
  
Storm frowned warily. "Remy...".  
  
"Save it, chere. I ain't in the mood for a lecture." And with that said he opened the door, and seconds later, the roar of his Harley could be heard as it tore down Greymalkin Lane. 


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for all the kind reviews! Hope you enjoy!  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Storm stared out the window of the den, into the pitch-blackness of the night sky. No stars could be seen because of how overcast it was, and she realized that this was a direct result of her growing apprehension. Inwardly, her unborn child twisted and kicked, as if he or she sensed the mood, and was restless because of it.  
  
Bobby Drake looked up from the TV he had been trying to watch. "You know, Ro, boring a hole in the window with your eyes isn't gonna make him come home any faster."  
  
Storm turned to him, "What?" She asked, having not paid the least bit of attention.  
  
Bobby grinned in spite of himself. "I wouldn't worry about Remy. He'll come home eventually."  
  
All she could do was nod and try to get comfortable next to him on the sofa. She knew he was right, but it wasn't when he came home that was bothering her. It was the condition she fully expected to find him in when he did. One glance at her, and Bobby seemed to understand. He gave her a sympathetic look and said, "Hey, I know you're upset. I don't blame you. You want me to go out and find him for you?"  
  
"No, Robert, but I thank you for the offer." Sighing, she turned back to the window. "It just seems that nothing has gone right ever since I found out I was pregnant." Perhaps these are signs from the Goddess that I am not meant to parent this child.  
  
Bobby looked from the TV, on which Baywatch had just started, to his friend, who obviously needed someone to talk to. Man, why do I have to be such a nice guy all the time? He gave Pamela Anderson a small wounded glance before switching off the set. Storm turned when he did, wondering why he would turn off his favorite show. Even though she found it utterly distasteful, it was not like Bobby to be that understanding. He gently touched her shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?"  
  
She smiled at her friend. Maybe she had underestimated how sympathetic he was. "I am not sure there is anything to talk about, Bobby. And I appreciate you making the gesture, but I am not sure you would really understand."  
  
"That's not true!" He protested. "What makes you think I wouldn't understand? Just 'cause I'm a guy?"  
"Well," Ororo began, "Yes. But also because you are young. And you don't understand what a huge responsibility becoming a parent is."  
  
Bobby frowned. Sometimes he hated being the youngest X-Man. Okay, so he wasn't as mature as some of the others. But that didn't mean that they had to treat him like a kid all the time. "Okay, so I don't know jack about the kind of pressures you're under." But I do know that being a parent completely changes your life." He shrugged. "And I honestly think that you'll be a totally cool mom, Ro."  
  
"You really think so?" She had to laugh at that.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" Bobby said nodding. "Think about it. You'll be the only mom around who could like, cancel school by creating a blizzard or something. And instead of carpooling kids around, you can just fly them around. Man, all the kids are gonna, like, think you're the coolest mom ever."  
  
"What a life that shall be," Storm said. "Who would have thought that I'd go from being worshipped as a Weather Goddess in Africa to being worshipped by the neighborhood children as a bringer of snow days?" She smiled at Bobby, thankful that he had made her feel happy again, if only temporarily.  
  
"Everyone worries about what kinda parent they'll be, Ro," Bobby assured her. "And as for Gambit," he shrugged. "I may not like the guy at times, but he usually comes through in the end. He'll get it threw his thick, Cajun head that you don't want a drunk for your baby's father eventually."  
  
Storm nodded. Bobby was right. She wasn't going to sit around and worry about Remy. If he wanted to be a part of this baby's life, than he was simply going to have to give up the drinking, that was all there was to it. She kissed Bobby on the cheek, and stood up. "Thank you, Robert. You are a good friend."  
  
Turning a deep shade of crimson, Bobby cleared his throat nervously. "Um...sure. Anytime." He turned away and switched the TV back on, planning to get lost in his fantasies of drowning on the beach and the silicone club having to perform CPR on him. Storm rolled her eyes, and headed for her room.  
* * * * * * * *  
  
As quietly as possible, Remy opened the front door and set to work disengaging the alarm. Inside, it was pitch black, and it was a good thing that he was very familiar with alarms, otherwise he would have had to turn on a light to put in his code. It flashed red, and Xavier had set it to go off after 30 seconds if it was breeched. But even though the code was complicated, and it was pitch black, Remy's fingers adeptly flew over the keypad, and when he was finished, the light flashed from red to green. "System disarmed." It said, in the Professor's voice.  
  
"Ssh." He whispered, as if the computer could hear him. It would automatically turn back on in 60 seconds, so he did not have to stick around to reactivate it once he was in the hall. As quiet as a mouse, or at least as quiet as the master thief he was, he made his way in the dark toward the staircase.  
  
Suddenly, a light came on and a voice called, "Freeze, you're under arrest!"  
  
Remy jumped back instinctively, and a glowing card appeared in his hand faster than the human eye could have caught it. But before he could throw it, he was very relieved to see that it was just Bobby. He took a deep breath, and reabsorbed the kinetic energy of the card. "Jesus, Drake, you tryin' to give me a heart attack or what?" What was with everyone trying to scare the hell out of him lately?  
  
Bobby grinned, pleased that he'd taken off ten years of the man's life. "Maybe," he replied, getting a stern look on his face. "Do you know what time it is, young man?"  
  
With a snort, Remy headed upstairs. "Funny, mon ami. Ha ha. You're lucky my head hurt too much to bother wit' you."  
  
Bobby paused for a second, then headed upstairs after him, and grabbed his arm. "Maybe I was kidding. But seriously, how can you do this every night? Man, don't you get sick of barfing every morning and stuff?"  
  
But Remy simply shook free and continued to his room. "I'm used to it."  
  
Bobby moved in front of him, blocking his path. "Storm was worried about you." He said, trying not to be angry.  
  
"She always worried 'bout me. Mind your own business, Drake." But as he said it, Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him against the wall. He was shorter, and usually not as strong, but he had caught Remy off guard, and he was more than a little tipsy as it was. "Damnit, LeBeau, I'm serious." He said, holding him pinned to the wall. "She was really worried. How can you do this to her, especially when she's worried enough about having the baby and all?"  
  
"I'm sure Stormy 'preciates your concern for her welfare." He replied, shoving the younger man out of his way. "But I can take care a'myself, Stormy, and the baby, too."  
  
Bobby glared at him, his anger surfacing. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want a drunk for a father?"  
  
Remy spun around, his red eyes blazing with anger even through their drunken glaze. "I'm not a drunk!" He yelled, louder than he intended to.  
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Bobby said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I mistook that lovely aroma of fresh cut flowers on your breath for mere Jack Daniels. Silly me."  
  
Remy shoved open his bedroom door, giving him a look of pure acid that few people would not have been at least a little disturbed by. "Stay outta my business, Drake. You'll only get yourself hurt. Now, ain't it past your bedtime?" He asked with a smile, before slamming the door in his face.  
  
For a second, Bobby considered freezing the lock and trapping him in there. But it wouldn't really do any good because Remy was the best lock picker that he had ever seen. So with all the restrain he could muster, he turned and headed to his own room. He couldn't believe what a dick the guy could be sometimes. Man, if I had a chance with Storm, and she was having my baby, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it. No matter how weird the circumstances of the baby may be. He shut his door, and flopped on his bed. "They're supposed to be best friends and all, but I totally wouldn't blame Storm if she didn't let her kid have anything to do with him."  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Seated at his desk inside the central headquarters of the Friends of Humanity buried deep in the thick pine forests of northern Maine, the man responsible for the creation of the agency sat with his second-in-command officer. They were in charge of not just the two-hundred or so men in this building, but every soldier who was a part of the F.O.H. around the country. It was not an easy job, but one that both felt an absolute one. They survival of their species was at sake. A species that could not, and must not be contaminated with mistakes of nature. Mutants.  
  
At the moment, however, they were each furious. Something had happened. Something terrible. A murder. And they were trying to decide what to do about it.  
  
"Barry Statler's death must be avenged." The second-in-command officer was saying to his superior. "Jesus, I grew up with 'em. He was a good man. Left behind a wife and two kids."  
  
"I know," the other said. "And believe me, this will not go unpunished. Barry Statler will have his revenge."  
  
The first man leaned forward in his chair anxiously. "The only problem," he said, "was we don't know who is responsible."  
  
The head-man slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. Barry Statler had been the best recruiter the F.O.H. had ever had, and probably would ever have. He was third in command of the main branch, the nerve center, if you will, of the entire organization. He'd gone up to various parts of Canada to do some scouting. Talent search, he'd liked to call it. That had been two months ago, more than a month since he'd been due back. They'd traced him to the middle-of-no-where Alberta, miles away from the nearest city. The last person to see him alive was a waitress in some bar. She remembered seeing him there one Friday night about a month ago. Left with a guy she'd called Jim. According to the waitress, he was the best cage fighter the place had ever seen. And Statler had informed them that he was going to try and recruit this Jim. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he must be the one to have killed him. Where the Hell he was now was anybody's guess. Certainly he wouldn't be stupid enough to stay around there after killing somebody. So now they were left with the obstacle of finding this Jim, whoever he was.  
  
"We have a description from the waitress." He told his superior. "We're running it through every database we can. But even that could turn up nothing."  
  
The other man agreed. But before another word could be said on the subject, a third man came running into the office. "Sir!" He said. "You won't believe this. We have excellent news." He thrust out a manila envelope. The man in charge took it, deciding to ignore Sgt. Fox's serious lack of decorum for busting in announced. Inside, he found several pictures, blown up. "What is this?" He asked.  
  
Fox grinned maddeningly. "The last picture, sir. You have to see the last picture. It's fuckin' Pulitzer material!"  
  
His superior obliged, and on the last photo of the bunch he saw two men. He recognized one immediately. But who was the other? The picture appeared to be taken on a crowded street. Stores could be seen, but he didn't really recognize anything specific. The camera was, however, obviously focused on these two men.  
  
"Sir," Fox said. "That's him. The man that killed Statler. He matches the description from the waitress to a T."  
  
The second man jumped to his feet, looking over his superior's shoulder. It didn't take more than a glance for them both to realize Fox was right. It had to be him. Suddenly, everything was following into place.  
  
"Have you got an ID?" The superior asked Sgt. Fox.  
  
Frowning, he shook his head. "No, sir. But we know that he doesn't live in Canada. Look at the jeep's plates. New York tags."  
  
The second man jumped in. "Have you tried tracing the plate number?"  
  
Fox nodded. "Came up empty. Fake name, fake address. This guy really likes to keep anonymous. But sir, look who he's with. If he..."  
  
The superior waved his hand. "You're right. This is too much of a coincidence. He definitely lives in New York. Salem Center, or nearby, I'll bet."  
  
"What should we do about it?" The second man asked, feeling that familiar feeling of anxiety, this time mixed with excitement.  
  
The superior thought for a second. There were many possibilities. He felt like a kid in a candy store. "I think," he said. "The best thing to do is not to rush into anything. Remember our main objective. Getting this guy is really just the icing on the cake. I think its time we start making the mutant population of Salem Center a little nervous." Motioning to his officers, he explained exactly what would go down over the next few months.  
  
"But, sir," the number two man said. "We were ordered to kill him," he pointed at the second man in the picture. "Are you sure its safe to bring him here?"  
  
"We will kill him," the superior promised. "But there will just be a slight delay in that order. First, we find out who he is, and where he is" he pointed to 'Jim,' "and then we..." grinning, he made a slashing motion across his neck.  
  
The three men beamed. It was a good plan. A brilliant plan. It had to work. It would work.  
After sending his men out of his office to get started on their new mission, he sat back down at his desk, and picked up the surveillance photos and grinned at the two men in it. One, of course, was this Jim, the murderer of Barry Statler. The other was the man they'd been hunting for weeks now. "Enjoy your freedom, Mr. LeBeau. Soon, very soon, you won't get the chance to. Ever again."  
  
Ah, I love it...there's nothing like a good cliff-hanger. Don't worry, I won't make you wait too long... 


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to all the sane people who are reading and reviewing! To birdiee, I did not take your review as a flame and found it very constructive. However, if you will permit me a second to be defensive, let me say that I don't think a snowstorm in Northern Canada in September is that much of a stretch of the imagination. I live in Colorado and have survived blizzards anywhere from early September to late April. As far as Remy is concerned, I guess my defense is that I don't tend to characterize him as being the slick, charming thief that he is often portrayed as. Not that I don't think he is, but to me he is just more complex...more scarred than that. Not to mention that right now he is in serious denial, which ain't just a river in Egypt. But that's just my opinion. Anyway, thanks and I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter...  
  
December  
  
Although she had promised herself that she would put an end to Remy's drinking, Ororo never got the chance to over the next few weeks. By the time he got home at night, she was asleep, her insomnia having reverted itself into seemingly constant sleepiness, and during the days it seemed Remy was never around.  
  
Storm, however, wasn't the only one who was growing worried about him, or at least angry with him. After he missed two Danger Room drills, Scott became furious, and another round of shouting took place. Remy, however, never stayed around after the fights, and when he would come home smashed, the problem was doomed to be repeated in an endless circle. As for the others, they tried to stay out of it, but Storm had overheard them talking about Remy's problem in whispered conversations more than once. She had even overheard Betsy tell Rogue that unless he straightened up, Scott was going to go to the Professor and have him kicked off the team. Ororo doubted that it would come to that, but inwardly, she was very worried. It seemed no one could count on the man anymore.  
  
Professor Xavier seemed almost as tense as Scott. Ororo became convinced that Remy could not be the only cause. Well, everyone else can stand around and wonder what's going on by themselves but I'm going to find out. As it turned out, though, she didn't have to find out for herself. Xavier sent a psychic message to her asking to see her as soon as possible.  
  
She knocked lightly on the door to the professor's study, and surprised herself by realizing that she was a little nervous. She had the feeling she wasn't going to like what Charles had to say.  
  
"Come in, Ororo," came the professor's voice. She did, wondering if she would ever get used to never having to announce her presence to him.  
  
"You asked to see me, Charles."  
  
Xavier nodded, and motioned for her to have a seat. He looked distracted, something that was unusual for him. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his usually pleasant blue eyes looked distant.  
  
Storm frowned, feeling concerned, as she sat down on the leather sofa. "There is something troubling you."  
  
He nodded again. "I take it that was an observation, not a question." He managed a small smile, but it was obvious that something was troubling him a great deal. Storm waited for him to go on, but instead he picked up a newspaper with today's date and handed it to her. She took it curiously.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
Charles pointed wordlessly at one of the headlines. It read: Two More Mutants Murdered as Speculation over Friends of Humanity Increases. Storm read the headline, and glanced over the article. Shaking her head, she said, "This is horrible. Truly horrible."  
  
"Yes, it is." Charles agreed. "The first victim was two weeks ago. A middle-aged man that apparently no one suspected as a mutant. The police officially ruled that a suicide. But," he paused and sighed. "Of course, it was not."  
  
"You are certain it was the F.O.H.?" A sense of dread slowly crawling through her. The baby began to kick, none too gently at her lower spine. There was already the strange and obvious connection of her feelings with the childs, just as it was with the weather. And it knew right now, that she was feeling quite foreboding. The Friends of Humanity were the perhaps the biggest single threat against Xavier's dream of equality for mutants. A militaristic cult-like group that believed mutants to be a curse on humanity, and had to be exterminated. It was rare that they resorted to out-and-out murder, though. Mainly because they were cowards, and didn't want to face getting caught. Although she believed it was definitely something they would do if they knew they could get away with it.  
  
"It was definitely the Friends of Humanity," Charles replied. He held up the newspaper. "There is a rumor that I have been privy to that leads me to believe that this is some sort of retaliation. I don't know the details, but I do know the police are being...less than zealous in pursuing them. But now there are two more murders."  
  
"Retaliation?" She frowned, wondering briefly what that could mean. Shrugging, she added tentatively, "Surely the police will go after them now, right?"  
  
Charles frowned heavily, and shook his head. "Perhaps. Perhaps I have too little faith in the police department. But I have heard things like this before. They are always wary about arresting these people. They fear being labeled as mutant lovers."  
  
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! It is their job to arrest these murderers!"  
  
"You must remember, Ororo," Charles replied with a small, tired smile, "that this organization is ridiculous."  
  
Storm leaned back against the sofa, still feeling angry. What if it were my child that was murdered? She wondered, glancing at her bulging, twitching stomach. How can the parents and loved ones of these victims live knowing that there will probably be no justice? She turned back to the professor. "What has this to do with me, Charles?"  
  
"Quite a lot," he said. "I fear this is only the beginning of their actions. And that is bad for us."  
  
"Yes, I realize that, but..."  
  
Charles held up a hand, silencing her. "Let me finish. With Logan gone to who knows where, and you unable to go into to battle, we are two X-Men short. And as it appears to me right now, we will need everyone we can possibly get if the F.O.H. tries anything else. And I feel they will."  
  
"What exactly are you saying, Charles?" Storm asked suspiciously. "Do you want me to apologize for the fact that I am pregnant and that my baby is the reason Logan took off?"  
  
Charles raised his eyebrows. "Now it is you who is being ridiculous. You know that the X-Men all support you in your impending motherhood."  
  
Storm nodded, feeling her face slightly warm. "Well, what is it, then?"  
  
"Part of the reason I asked you here was just to inform you of the situation, as I have done with everyone." He paused and cleared his throat. "Everyone that is, except Gambit. And he is mainly the reason I asked to speak to you."  
  
"I suspected as much. You want me to convince him to stop drinking."  
  
Charles leaned forward in his hoverchair, his blue eyes as serious as Ororo had ever seen. "As I said, we are already two X-Men short. And this situation with the F.O.H. is not going to be pretty. We cannot afford to lose another person, especially to something as foolhardy as alcohol."  
  
"I am not sure I can help him, Charles. He knows how I feel, he knows how we all feel. For him, drinking is the only way he knows to deal with his problems."  
  
"You must try, Ororo," he insisted. "I hate to put further pressures on you when I know you are under a lot already, but I feel that you are the only one he will listen to. You must try."  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Okay, so I agreed to try and reason with him. But I will not feel guilty for the team being short-handed. It was late on the same day, and Ororo was waiting for Remy to come home, trying to convince herself that she shouldn't feel as though it was her fault for not being to help out the team, and for Logan taking off. She knew it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. It seemed it was going to be a long night, but no matter what time her friend appeared, she would wait and talk to him that night. She had been over what she was going to say several times, and it had to be tonight, or she thought she might lose her nerve. And just to make sure she did, she was waiting in his room.  
  
She had been in her friend's room many times of course, but it was not until that night that she noticed how oddly little it said about him. The only real personal thing in the room was his huge hand-crafted mahogany bed that he had had shipped from his home in New Orleans the day he decided to stay with the X- Men. It was truly beautiful craftsmanship, very old, and Storm was guessing, very expensive. She knew that he had slept in it since the day his father Jean-Luc had taken him home at the age of eight, and that it was sentimental to him. But the rest of his room was so...sterile. He had a top of the line stereo and computer, but the rest of the furniture, even the expensive works of art, were done in early 19th century French colonial, all bought, or at least he said were bought, after he came here. Stylish and tasteful, yes, but unlike the rest of his friends, he had nothing that truly revealed his personality. None of these things were really important to him. They were just there. Ororo thought of her own large collection of plants, Bobby's Baywatch posters, or Hank's innumerable books, many of them first addition and very valuable. She knew why Remy was this way, but she had wrongly assumed that after all these years living with them that he would stop acting as though he had to hide his entire life, in other words, stop acting like a thief. I guess I was wrong. For him, once a thief, always a thief.  
She stood and went to look out the window for what must have been the three-hundreth time that hour alone. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was after two, but she had no idea when he might come home. It could be a very long night. Her stomach growled, and briefly her thoughts turned to having a late night snack. Maybe a Twinkie...No, she told herself, you don't need to be eating those things. So instead she made herself comfortable on Remy's bed, and switched on his table light. She picked up her copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting and started reading.  
  
An hour later, Ororo awoke with a start. Remy was standing over his bed staring at her. She sat up, somewhat embarrassed, not having intended on falling asleep. "Whatcha doing in my room, Stormy?" he asked in a slurred voice. He reeked of cheap whiskey, as she had fully expected he would. Struggling over to a chair, he kicked off his boots, almost falling over in the process.  
  
"I was waiting to talk to you. I didn't mean to fall asleep." She went over to help him, so he could avoid killing himself trying to get undressed. She sincerely hoped that he was clear- headed enough to reason with.  
  
"S'okay, chere. I fall 'sleep in your room lots a times. Whatcha wanna talk to me 'bout?"  
  
"I think you know the answer to that, my friend." She helped him over to the bed, and sat back down next to him.  
  
"No, I don't." He insisted. He glanced down at her stomach, momentarily looking afraid. "There ain't nothing wrong with the baby, is there?"  
  
"No, nothing like that."  
  
"Good," he mumbled, sighing with relief. "I stopped by this store the other day that sells baby furniture. I found the perfect crib. I know I shoulda waited for you to shop wit' me, but I couldn't resist, so I ordered it. You gonna love it, I know it."  
  
Ororo frowned, losing her train of thought. "Um...Remy, don't you think it's kind of soon to be ordering baby furniture? I'm not even five months along."  
  
He grinned stupidly, and rested a hand on her stomach. "I know, I know, but I only want the best for my little boy or girl. What you think it gonna be, chere? I can't decide."  
  
"Huh? Oh, I don't know. I was going to ask Hank to tell me at the ultra-sound, but he couldn't tell. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Now, anyway, Remy, about what I wanted to talk..."  
  
"Yeah," he interrupted, leaning against the back of the bed. "I can't believe that in four months I'm gonna be a daddy. You been practicing Lamaze, Stormy? I heard that it best for you and the baby."  
  
"Well, I was..."  
  
"Oh, and I been thinkin' 'bout names, too. I don't really like "juniors" so how 'bout Luc for a boy? I really like Dominique for a girl, or Renee."  
  
"I haven't really thought about..."  
  
"Oh, yeah," Remy continued, his whole face glowing. "I almost forgot. When I bought the crib, I stopped by an electronics store. I picked out a top of the line camcorder, one of those ones with the little screens to record with. I pick it up when I go back to pay for the crib. You gotta have a camcorder to record the birth, and birthdays, and all that."  
  
Storm grabbed his arm, and shook him, "Remy, shut up for a minute! Please, I have to talk to you."  
  
He blinked a few times, but stopped talking. "Sorry, Stormy, I didn't mean to go on like that. Go 'head."  
  
"Well," she began, ignoring the fact that he was calling her by that name again, and realized that her whole plan of what she had planned to say had gone right out of her head. "First of all, I really wish you hadn't gone to the trouble of shopping for the baby yet."  
  
"I know I shoulda waited for you, but..."  
  
"That's not it," she interrupted. "But the fact is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you is to tell you that I'm not even sure I am going to keep the baby."  
  
Remy's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. "What?! You can't be serious."  
  
"I am serious," Storm replied, trying to keep her voice calm. "It is something that I have been thinking a lot about. I want what's best for the child, and I am not sure that is here, and with us."  
"What are you talkin' 'bout?" he said, his voice high and tight. "How can you do that to your baby? How can you do that to me?"  
  
"Remy, you must understand. I want what's best for the baby. And I am not sure that bringing a baby here and now is a good idea, not to mention safe." She quickly explained to him what she and the professor had discussed earlier about the F.O.H. and how if they decided to target any more innocent mutants that it may mean trouble for the X-Men.  
  
Remy frowned and shook his head. He wasn't buying that as reason enough for Storm to suddenly decide to give the baby up for adoption. "So you decide that just because we may have to get a little rough for awhile wit' de F.O.H. that it not safe to have the baby here?"  
  
"No," she said. "That's only part of it. The main reason is because I don't want you around the child the way you are now. The main reason is because of you, Remy."  
  
Although she didn't think it possible, he actually looked more shocked than he had a minute ago. His normally carefree expression was replaced by one that looked as if he had just been stabbed in the back by his best friend. But then, to Remy, he felt as though he had.  
  
Deep down, Ororo really did hate having to say this to him. Even though she was furious at how stupid and reckless he had been acting lately, he was still her best friend after all, and she hated hurting him. "Remy," she said softly, touching his arm. "You know you have a problem. Everyone does, but you just will not see it. You really are leaving me no choice. I simply refuse to subject my child to having a drunk for a father."  
  
For a long while, he didn't respond, simply sat there staring at her stomach as if he could communicate telepathically with it. The red of his eyes glowed with emotion when at last he turned to Ororo. "You really think I'd hurt you or my own baby just 'cause I get drunk? Is that what you worried 'bout?"  
  
Storm shook her head adamantly. "Of course not. I know you better then that, and I know you would never hurt me or the baby, but that's not the point. If you really love this child as much as I think you do, as much as I do, than you know that he or she deserves a father who's sober. What if, one night after you had too much to drink, you get into a fight and get hurt, or Goddess forbid, killed, because your common sense is seriously diminished? Or for that matter, you could get into any sort of accident. Look at you! You can hardly walk when you come home. The point is, how can I trust you with a baby when you are like this?"  
  
Again, Remy didn't answer right away. Ororo watched as he stood up, using the bed post to maintain his balance, and stood next to the bed with his back to her. For a second, she considered leaving, wondering if he was going to say anything at all. Finally, he turned around. "You right, 'Roro. You right 'bout everything. I been a really jerk. You, and everyone been trying to tell me I gotta problem for months now, but I ain't been listening."  
  
Storm was surprised. Surprised that he had backed down that easily. "I am glad you understand, my friend. I'm glad I finally got through to you."  
  
Remy sat back down on the bed, and took his friend's hand. "I make you a deal, chere. I promise to give up drinking, prove that I responsible 'nough to be a father, whatever you want me to do. And you promise to give me another chance. You promise not to give the baby up for adoption."  
  
Storm stared at her friend, and shook her head. "Remy, this is too large an issue for me to just 'make a deal' on. There's more to it than that. Besides, do you really think you can stop drinking, just like that?"  
  
He nodded slowly. "I think I can. As long as I know what's at sake, then I won't touch another drop. I know there are other issues here, chere, but we work through them. You say you know me, chere. Well, I know you, too. I know you don't want to do this. You want the baby s'much as I do." Squeezing her hand, he added, "Please, Ro. Promise me."  
  
His words ran through her, paining her heart because she knew he was right. She didn't want to give up her baby. In a perfect world, she would be happily married, in love, and would have a beautiful home, and a loving husband before she had children. She wouldn't have to worry about her friends and herself being targeted by people because of what they are, she wouldn't worry about not being there for the people she considered her family, or about having her child grow up in an environment that could be dangerous and sorrowful. But, as she realized, this was not a perfect world. She was pregnant, but did not have a loving husband or a perfect home and family. She had friends, who, for the most part, supported her, but probably secretly worried about how her child would affect their lives. She had two possibilities of fathers for her child: one, a loner with a great deal of inner demons that had deserted her, and two, her best friend who wanted to raise the baby, but who possibly had even more hidden problems and about whom she was uncertain she could trust. But yet, she found herself willing to chance it all. So at last she replied, "All right, Remy. I will give you another chance. I will keep the baby, as you know I want to."  
  
He smiled and looked relieved. "You promise?"  
  
"Yes, I promise."  
  
Remy kissed her cheek, and beamed. "I won't let you down, Stormy. I swear it. This baby a blessing. I finally feel like I done somethin' good for the world."  
  
"You are too hard on yourself. You have done a lot of good for the world." That was what she told him and she meant it with all her heart. Still, thoughts nagged at her mind. I only hope I am doing the right thing.  
  
Okay, I know this is not much. Trust me, the really good stuff is coming up...(And don't worry, you don't really think I'd leave Wolvie on the sidelines, do you?) 


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to all once again! I appreciate the good reviews!  
  
January  
  
The next month passed much more quickly then the previous four and a half, Ororo noted, and they were certainly the happiest and easiest so far. Remy kept his promise, and as far as she could tell, he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. For the first few weeks, he looked more jitterly and acted more nervous than Storm had ever seen him, but she knew that when he was determined to do something, he would. It would probably take a lot to knock him off the wagon now.  
  
It seemed unfathomable that she could really be six months pregnant, but the growing bulge in her stomach certainly was a helpful reminder. Besides the fact that Logan was still no where to be found, the only thing that she really had to be concerned with now was the ever growing threat of the F.O.H. Everyone, particularly the professor, were all concerned that something would happen any day now, but they enjoyed a temporary haven that Ororo in particular hoped would not end. It could have simply been due to the holiday season, but everyone hoped that was not the case.  
  
It was on an unseasonably warm day in early January that Storm was enjoying relaxing in the den, writing in the journal she was keeping for her baby. Usually, she preferred to take advantage of days such as these and spend time working in her garden or just enjoying nature, but she hadn't been feeling well all that week, and she hoped that a quiet afternoon relaxing would help her get well sooner.  
  
Remy sat with her on the sofa, with the TV on, channel surfing. She had no idea what he was watching, nor did she care, but she did enjoy his company, and for the most part as well as everyone else. Now that it was apparent she was going to keep the baby, everyone had been a lot more open in discussing it. It seemed that everyday someone would come up to her with name suggestions, advice that they had heard from so-and-so, or with small presents that they "just happened to see and couldn't resist." That was usually Remy, who came home almost everyday with something else, despite Ororo's insistence that he didn't have too, and despite the fact that he had spent a fortune on her already at Christmas which had only been two weeks ago. She may as well have been talking to a brick wall.  
  
As much as she was enjoying the silence that afternoon, living where she did, it was not something that was to be enjoyed very often. For some reason, she was almost relieved when Bobby came into the den. "There you guys are," he said, plopping into an easy chair, "I've been looking for you everywhere."  
"Well, you found us." Remy mumbled, not looking up from the TV. He and Bobby were not exactly the best of friends, and obviously did not share in Ororo's happiness to see him.  
  
She jabbed her friend in the ribs. "What did you want to see us about, Robert?" She asked, ignoring the pained look that her friend gave her.  
  
"The baby poll." Bobby replied, holding up a notebook. "You two are the last ones to get in it."  
  
Ororo and Remy glanced at each other, and then at Bobby. "The what?" They both asked in sync.  
  
Bobby grinned. "The baby poll. I made everyone guess the baby's sex, weight, and what day they think it will be born, and then the one that comes the closest wins the pot."  
  
"Pot?" Remy asked. "You better not let Xavier catch you wit' that stuff, Drake."  
  
Bobby gave him a look. "No, stupid. Not pot as in marijuana. The money pot. Everyone puts in twenty bucks and the winner keeps it all."  
  
"Really?" Remy replied, looking mildly interested. "Sound pretty good to me. I'm in." Of course he loved anything that was in any remotely related to gambling. Both he and Bobby turned to Ororo.  
  
She sighed. "Oh, all right. I guess if everyone else is doing it. Although I don't see the point in it."  
  
Bobby shrugged, and took out a pen. "Chill, Ro, it's just for fun. And anyway, you've got an advantage over all of us. You should be the most willing." He turned to Remy. "Okay, LeBeau, shoot."  
  
"Wait a second," he said, "I wanna hear what everyone else picked 'fore I decide."  
  
"As do I," Ororo interjected. "I am curious as to what sex everyone decided on."  
  
Bobby glanced over the paper, and grinned. "Hey, I just realized that there's a tie. Scott, Rogue, Betsy, Bishop, and the prof said it was gonna be a boy. Jean, Hank, Warren, Kurt and I all said it was gonna be a girl."  
"Well, put me down for a girl," Remy decided. "If Hank think it's a girl, that good 'nough for me."  
  
"Hank said that he couldn't tell," Ororo reminded him. "They baby was facing the wrong way in the ultrasound. Well, I suppose I'll say that it will be a boy just to keep everything even."  
  
"Gotcha," Bobby said, writing. "Now, how about the weight? I got everything from six pounds even, that's me, to thirteen and a half pounds. That would be Bishop."  
  
"Thirteen and a half pounds!" She exclaimed. "I should electrocute the man for even suggesting something like that."  
  
Remy grinned. "Now that something I'd not mind seeing. Put me down for a nice, even eight pounds, Drake."  
  
"I will say seven pounds, eight ounces. I certainly hope that it's no where near thirteen pounds."  
  
"Well, if it is, you know who to blame."  
  
The three of them discussed the weight and when they thought the baby would born for several more minutes. Bobby laughed when he told them that four people, including himself, had picked April 1st, April Fools Day, as the day they thought it would be born on. Her actually due date, Hank had determined, was April 7th, so it was possible.  
  
They were still talking when all of a sudden they heard the professor's voice psychically. "X-Men, come to Cerebro immediately."  
  
The trio gave each other confused looks. "What do you think this is all about?" Bobby asked.  
  
They both shrugged, and stood up, heading for the huge room below them where the super computer was housed. "Who knows?" Remy said.  
  
Within a few minutes, the three of them, along with everyone else, was standing in Cerebro, waiting for the professor to tell them what was going on. When everyone was there, Charles wordlessly flipped on a monitor and motioned for all of them to watch.  
  
On it was a live report from Salem Center, the nearest town, where apparently there was some kind of demonstration going on. A young journalist was commenting on it, and soon the camera switched to a man wearing a suit, addressing a large crowd of people. The vast majority of the crowd seemed to agree with what he was saying, as they cheered whenever he stopped talking. It was clear who this man was, or least who he represented: the Friends of Humanity.  
  
After a few minutes, Charles hit the mute button, and turned to his team. "Comments?" He asked.  
  
Cyclops, of course, was the first to speak up. "What's going on, professor? I mean with the F.O.H."  
  
"Uh...duh," Bobby mumbled. "Isn't is obvious, Cyke? They're just trying to cause problems. That's all they know how to do."  
  
"But this doesn't make sense, professor," Jean asserted. "Why stage a rally like this so soon after being responsible for the death of three people? Why would they risk it?"  
  
"'Cause they idiots, chere," Remy said. "These kinda people don't have to make sense."  
  
Charles held up a hand, and immediately the room fell silent. "I am not sure exactly what their motive is for staging this rally. I agree, Jean, that it doesn't make sense. But as Gambit just stated, these people do not make sense. However, what they are trying to do is not my concern. What I am concerned with are all the innocent people there, both mutants and non-mutants that could be hurt if violence erupted."  
  
"We're on it, sir," Cyclops said. "Team, assemble at the Blackbird."  
  
"Wait, Scott," Charles said, stopped him. "I want this handled as low key as possible. I don't want to raise any unnecessary suspicions. I think it would be best if you took the X-van and wore civilian clothes. I want you there as observers, and with any luck, that's all you'll have to be. I don't want any aggressive moves unless it is they who start it. Understood?"  
  
There was a murmur through the various X-Men, and Scott began to bark out orders. Ororo stood by, feeling, once again, slightly guilty that she would be left behind. With Logan gone, they would already be shorthanded if anything happened. Charles sensed this, and smiled at her. "You can prepare the medic lab, just in case, while I monitor the situation from here." She nodded, glad that she help out, at least a little.  
"Alright team," Scott said. "I want to reassemble in the garage in five minutes for assignments. Okay, move out."  
  
Bobby rolled his eyes, and headed back upstairs after everyone else, making little mimicking movements with his hands. Remy caught Storm's eye, and smiled. "Sometimes I don't think ol' Cyke know how stupid he really sounds."  
  
Secretly, she agreed with him, but she felt it wasn't her place to say so. "Remy," she said, grabbing his arm before he could take off. "Promise me you'll be careful. I don't have a very good feeling about this whole thing. The professor told me something about a retaliation before. I don't know exactly what that means, but..."  
  
He flashed her his trademark grin, obviously not worried in the least. Overconfidence was one of his biggest downfalls, and nobody knew that better than Ororo. "Don't worry, Stormy. Nothin' gonna happen to me. I be back in time for supper." 


	10. Chapter 10

Not a huge update, but an update none the less. Think you know what's gonna happen? Bet you don't...thanks to all who are reading...review, please!  
  
For awhile, Ororo was able to keep on top of what was happening at Salem Center via updates on the TV. Finally, though, after several hours, the local channel broke away to go to their regularly scheduled prime time shows. She paced back and forth in Charles' den, eagerly awaiting word. What could possibly be taking them so long? She would have thought that the rally would have broken up after it started to get dark.  
  
"Ororo," the professor said from where he was using Cerebro to monitor the others, "I wouldn't worry. If anything happens, I'll be the first to know."  
  
"I know, Charles," she said. "It just bothers me that I can't be there. The not-knowing is maddening. How can you stand it?"  
  
Charles never got the chance to answer, though. He suddenly began furiously hitting buttons on Cerebro, frowning. Storm could tell that he was trying to telepathically contact someone, but from the looks of it, wasn't succeeding. She ran over to him, "What is it? What is happening?"  
  
"Scott!" Charles exclaimed. "Scott, report!" He shook his head, and removed the helmet that kept him connected to Cerebro. "Turn on the television, quick!"  
  
She immediately switched it on, not being able to imagine what was going on. Had something happened to one of her friends? She soon found out, as the local channel had just broken in with a newsflash.  
  
"I'm standing here on Main Street in the heart of Salem Center, where a seemingly peaceful demonstration has turned violent," a young blond reporter was saying. Behind her, Storm saw a few stray people running here and there. Most of them looked scared, but some where obviously taking advantage of the situation to create small riots. The reporter continued: "I have just gotten word that there may be injured people here. Apparently, a few people, who bystanders have said may be mutants, started verbally attacking the speaker of the Friends of Humanity, where we believe it turned ugly from there. Fistfights broke out, and then we understand someone, although at this time we are unable to tell whom, brought out a gun, and we believe at least one person, and possibly more, may have been shot. Now, we don't have any confirmation on any of this, so we will bring you more details when they become available."  
Ororo turned away from the set. What she had heard chilled her to the bone. "Oh, Charles," she whispered. "Do you think anything has happened to one of them?"  
  
Charles rubbed his temples slowly. He didn't want to think about what could have happened, or why he couldn't get in contact with any of the X-Men. But it didn't take a man of his immense knowledge to know that something was very wrong there. "I don't know," he said in a tired, flat voice. "I don't know what is going on there," he looked up suddenly in alarm, "but I sense that we will find out very soon."  
  
She soon realized what he was talking about as the she heard the sound of screeching tires, and voices. Both Ororo and Charles headed as fast as they could to meet the others in the garage and find out what happened.  
  
"Get him to my lab immediately!" Hank was saying. Storm watched in horror as Bishop jumped out of the van holding Bobby in his arms. He was covered in blood, and it looked as if he had been shot in the chest. Bishop and Hank didn't give the two of them a second glance as they ran toward Hank's lab. The others immerged one by one, all of them looking somewhat dazed.  
  
The professor looked at his team, scanning to see what had happened, but realized that he had better get down to the lab to assist Hank if he needed it. He spun his hover chair around 180 degrees, and took off after he and Bishop.  
  
Ororo stood with her mouth agape, not entirely sure she wanted to know what happened. But even if she had, the words were stuck in her throat. She stared at the others helplessly.  
  
"It all happened so fast," Warren said, almost in a daze.  
  
"What happened?" Storm whispered. "What happened to Bobby?"  
  
Remy stepped forward, grasping the side of his head. It was already turning black and blue, all the way from his scalp to his eye, and the towel he had pressed against the wound was covered in blood, as where his clothes.  
  
"Oh my..." she said, running over to him. "Remy, are you okay? What happened?"  
  
He tried to nod, but cringed when he realized how much it hurt. "I'm okay," he said. "Got hit wit' a bottle. Drake...uh...Bobby, he got the worst of it, I'm 'fraid."  
  
So the blood on his clothes was Bobby's and not his. That means he must have lost an awful lot of blood. "What happened to him?" She asked to no one in particular.  
  
The others glanced at each other, and then at the floor. Finally, Jean cleared her throat. "He was...shot. We didn't see by whom. It was...chaos, utter chaos, there for a few minutes. One minute, the F.O.H. man was speaking, the next, a few mutants started protesting. I don't know what happened then, it was so fast."  
  
"Everyone just started going crazy," Warren said, shaking his head. "Betsy and I were watching from the opposite side, so we didn't get a very good look at what really started it, but all of a sudden we heard shouting, and people starting throwing things, and then we heard a gunshot, and..."  
  
"It was all my fault," Remy interrupted.  
  
Jean turned to him, surprised. "It was not your fault. There was no way that you could have prevented what happened."  
  
"It was my fault," he protested. "I shoulda been watchin' him. He was right next to me. I saw someone with a gun, actually all I really saw was a gun, and I turned to yell to Bobby to get down, but then I got hit with that damn bottle."  
  
"When the gun went off, most everyone took off," Warren added. "We didn't bother to leave anyone there to track down who did it. Bishop was the closest, and he just grabbed Bobby, and we got back here as quick as possible. Maybe if Logan had been there, he could have tracked the guy down, but..." he stopped, and blushed slightly when he realized what he was saying. He suddenly remembered that Ororo blamed herself for Logan taking off.  
  
Remy kicked at the floor, shaking his head. "Goddamn F.O.H.," he muttered. "I shoulda been able to stop it. I shoulda been payin' attention."  
  
"If it was anyone's fault," Scott said, "It was mine. I was in command out there, and I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have broken up the team. Then Bobby wouldn't have been by himself."  
  
There almost looked as if there might be a fight about, of all things, who was responsible for Bobby getting shot. However, Kurt, perhaps the softest-spoken of all the X-Men, but clearly the most forgiving, held out his hands. "My friends," he said in his heavy German accented voice, "I would like to say to you that I do not think it matters who is responsible, even if it were one of you, which, of course it is not. Neither of you pulled the trigger, and neither of you is responsible for young Bobby's welfare. I'm sure he would feel the same way. I suggest that we set aside our feelings of guilt and anger, and say a prayer that Gott will spare us our friend."  
  
Remy and Scott looked slightly ashamed. "You're right, Kurt," Scott said. "Why don't you lead us in a prayer?"  
  
The former German monk known as Nightcrawler nodded solemnly, and everyone bowed their heads and joined hands. They prayed to God to watch over Bobby, to heal him and spare him pain. They prayed for Hank to have the wisdom and focus needed to save his life, and forgiveness if they were in any way responsible. The X-Men prayed for all those mutants that felt like outcasts and outsiders, and those who didn't have the support and understanding of friends like they did. But they didn't stop there. They also prayed for Ororo's unborn child, that it be born healthy, and that it may be spared the torment that all of they felt growing up as mutants. And finally they prayed for God to watch over and protect those that they had lost along the way, and those who were separated from them, including Logan.  
  
As Kurt finished up the prayer with an 'a-men', everyone looked up and at each other. Nobody spoke, but nobody had to. They all knew what the others were thinking. 


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for reading once again! Please review! This is going to be pretty long, but I couldn't take the pressure any longer...so I had to get to well, you know who...hope you enjoy.  
  
It seemed days later, but it was actually only a few hours when Ororo sat with her friends in the den, just a few yards away from Hank's lab where he raced to save Bobby's life. The air was tense, and nobody was saying much. Someone had turned on the TV, although she had no idea who. It was purely for distraction; no one was actually watching it. With the exception of Hank, the professor, and of course, Bobby, everyone was in there, waiting. Bishop and Remy had changed their clothes so at least no one had to see all the blood. Remy had bandaged his head wound, but he would have to wait until Hank could stitch it up properly. He was acting very antsy, tapping his foot, and constantly glancing at the door. He looked like he desperately needed either a cigarette or a drink. She hoped he wouldn't succumb to the temptation.  
  
Ororo looked around the room, and was not surprised to see that even in this time of crisis, everyone was pretty much reacting as she would have expected them to. Jean and Scott sat on the love seat, holding hands. Because of their shared psychic rapport they didn't need to speak to communicate. Warren and Betsy were also sitting, holding hands, each having the other for comfort. Storm briefly wished that she, too, could have someone like that, someone that she was in love and destined to be with. Scott had Jean, Warren had Betsy, Charles had Lilandra, and even though they were estranged, for a long while Rogue and Remy had been in love. Her thoughts turned briefly to Forge. She thought, for a time, that he may be the love of her life. But she was wrong. Forge was in love with his work, using his mutant powers to create fascinating inventions years ahead of his time. There had simply not been enough room in his life for his machines and her too. She blocked all thoughts of Forge and her jaded love life out of her mind. She had no right to mope when she had so much to be thankful for, not to mention while her friend lay nearby fighting for his life.  
  
She felt a hand on hers, breaking her thoughts. Remy smiled slightly at her. "You look a thousand miles away, chere."  
  
She nodded. She felt a thousand miles away. She wished she were a thousand miles away. "Come here," she saidto him. He crawled over to her on the sofa, and she wrapped her arms around him. She suddenly felt so alone, and needed to feel him there. She needed to know that this was really happening, even if she didn't want it to.  
  
"Don't worry, chere," he whispered. "I'm sure he'll be okay."  
  
She squeezed him tighter. "I hope so, my friend. I most definitely hope so."  
  
Finally, after the moon was glistening in the thick New York sky and the Tonight Show was nearly over, Hank appeared at the doorway. It was impossible to read anything on his face, but everyone stood up, slow as if walking under water. Even Scott, who was usually solid as a rock, and Bishop, who had seen dozens of people die in the future he came from, looked shaky.  
  
Remy and Ororo stood with their friends, and she took his hand and held it tightly. If it was bad news, she needed him to hold on to. She held her breath as Hank cleared his throat. "Bobby's alive," he began. Storm let out a huge sigh of relief, as did everyone else in the room at the exact same second. It would have almost been funny if the circumstances had been different.  
  
Hank continued. "However, he has lost a great deal of blood, and I am afraid he is in a coma." He paused, and shook his head. "I've done all I can to repair the damage the bullet caused to his ribcage. Thankfully, it seemed to miss most of the major organs." He sighed. "It is up to him now."  
  
That had to be the longest day of any of their lives. Ororo knew that it was certainly one of hers. However, the next twenty-four hours were even longer. She was fairly certain that no one got any sleep that night. It was apparent at breakfast the next morning when the only thing consumed were massive amounts of coffee. Someone, probably Rogue, had made pancakes, and as delicious as they smelled, when Ororo tried to eat some, they stuck in her throat like breaded glue and she nearly choked. A glance at the others confirmed that they felt the same way. Warren was pushing his around on his plate, but not actually eating any. Scott kept cutting his, smaller and smaller until it was mush. Even Bishop, who usually had a tremendous appetite given his nearly seven-foot frame, couldn't eat. It was the saddest, most morbid morning she had remembered in a long time. No one was talking, and in fact the only noise at all was the steady patter of rain against the roof. The weather report, she saw in the paper Scott was pretending to read really did call for a gray day, but for some reason she was pretty sure it would have been one even if the weatherman had protected a bright, sunny one. There was an article about the rally, but no one read it. They didn't need too. Bobby remained in a coma, and each one of them kept a bedside vigil so that someone was there with him all the time. There wasn't anything that they could do, and they had no idea if he was aware that they were there or not, but still, as painful as it was to see him lying there, he was never alone, not even for a minute.  
  
He looks almost peaceful laying there, Storm noticed. If it weren't for all the instruments that he was hooked up to, she wouldn't have been able to tell that there was anything wrong with him. He looked so young, though, even younger than he really was. With his curly dark blond hair, tanned complexion and dimples, Ororo noticed for the first time how cute he really was, and how innocent he looked lying there. "Bobby," she whispered, holding his hand. "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but if you can, I want you to know that we are praying for you." She smiled down at him. "You have to get better, you know. Think of what would happen to the ratings of Baywatch. Not to mention who would take control of the baby poll? I want my baby to know his or her 'Uncle' Bobby."  
  
Jean walked in the room right then just in time to hear her say that. "I'm sure that he will, Ororo. You don't know how much he's looking forward to being an 'uncle.'"  
  
Storm smiled again. "And what an interesting uncle he would...I mean...will be. My baby is lucky to have so many people to love and play with."  
  
Jean sat down across from her on the other side of Bobby. "You're right about that. I look forward to the day when Scott and I will be blessed with a baby also. Hopefully, one of these days."  
  
"Excuse me," a deep voice said. Jean and Ororo looked up to see Bishop glowering in the doorway. The tattooed 'M' above his right eye seemed to pulse. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said. "But I thought you might be interested in knowing, Ms. Munroe, that LeBeau just came home, and he is as they say, 'drunk as a skunk."  
  
Her jaw dropped open as soon as the words sunk in. Did he just say what I pray he did not? "Are...are you sure, Bishop?"  
  
"Yes," he said, not trying to hide the disgust in his voice. "I thought you should know."  
  
She nodded, but couldn't manage to say anything else. Bishop turned and left, and Jean sighed deeply. Until then, Storm had forgotten she was even there. "I was afraid of this," she said. "He was so angry at what happened. He blames himself."  
  
"That is something he has been doing for as long as I have known the man. If he could think of a way, he would blame himself for the world being round, and the sky being blue. But I prayed that it would not be the case here."  
  
"Don't be too hard on him," she was surprised to hear Jean continue. "After all, he's been through a lot these past months."  
  
Ororo stood up, and headed for the door. "Yes, Jean, I realize that," she called over her shoulder. "But then again, who hasn't?"  
  
She found him sitting in his room, and at least to his credit, he didn't try to avoid her. She had seen him plenty drunker, but then how drunk could someone really be at three in the afternoon? He looked more buzzed than anything, obviously drowning his guilt in a long, tall bottle. "I figured you be here sooner or later," he said, his voice slightly slurred, without looking at her.  
  
"How could you?" She said, trying to control her anger. But then it wasn't so much anger that she felt as bitter disappointment.  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know. It just happened. I know I broke my promise, so I understand if you hate me."  
  
She felt her jaw immediately clench up. He always did this. He always made it so hard to stay mad at him by making her feel guilty. "You know I don't hate you. But I don't understand how you could do this to me, not to mention to yourself."  
  
Again, he shrugged. "I wasn't counting on anything like this happening, I mean what happened to Bobby," he stopped and stood up, somewhat off-balance. "I don't care what Jean say, or Cyke or anyone. What happened to 'em was my fault. Cyke broke us up into two-man teams, and when things went bad, I shoulda protected him." He slammed his fist so hard against the post of his bed that it echoed. Only it's solid construction saved it from cracking. Storm flinched at the realization of how much that was going to hurt when he didn't have the alcohol to dull the pain. Remy continued, "Drake and I may not have always got along, but I never wanted anything like this."  
  
Storm cleared her throat, and walked over to him. "Remy..." she began. He shook his head. "Don't," he mumbled. "I know what you gonna say, chere. Just don't." He turned and brushed past her out of the room, not even looking her in the eye.  
* * * * * * *  
  
She didn't see Remy for the rest of that day. He locked himself into the Danger Room, and refused to see anyone. It was probably just as well, for if Cyclops had gotten a hold of him, God only knows what would have happened. No one talked much, except about Bobby, and it was about as dull as Storm could ever remember it being around the institute. Finally, out of boredom if nothing else, she went to bed.  
  
The next morning, Storm woke up early with a bad case of heartburn. It was just one of the many 'wonders' she had experienced during pregnancy. She also felt a little guilty about Remy, although she wasn't exactly sure why. Did he think that just because he had broken his promise she was now going to give the baby up for adoption? She didn't know. But she knew that she should talk to him, apologize for being angry. Jean was right, he had been through a lot these last six months, and it wasn't fair to judge him just because she had as well.  
  
The huge mansion that the all the X-Men called home was cold and empty in the wee hours of the morning, and it was hard to believe that so many people lived here. Eerie shadows seemed to drift and then linger in the corners; blurred shadows reflecting uncertainty in the marble floors. Ororo crept down from her top floor loft down past the third floor where most of the others slept, past the main floor to the first floor where Hank had his lab and his own room nearby.  
  
The sun was just peaking violet-red in through the windows as she entered the lab, and a new day dawned with the promise of being better then the last two. There was almost no way that it could be worst. She didn't know exactly what she expected to see, maybe a miracle, but Bobby looked exactly as he did yesterday, still deep in a coma, machines beeping and humming, keeping him alive.  
  
It was hard to see him like this. All it did was remind her of the bigoted idiots in the world that would shoot an innocent kid for no good reason. Storm turned away from him, and headed into the other room to see if Hank was up yet. She needed something for this damn heartburn. Although it was still very early, she figured it was likely that her hairy comrade was already up, either working on the Legacy virus or hopefully on some way to help Bobby.  
  
The door leading from the lab to Hank's room was slightly ajar. Ororo knocked lightly on it, peering in. "Hank? Are you awake?" She opened the door a little farther, and smiled at what she saw. Hank apparently had not made it to bed at all last night. His furry blue head was curled up on his arm, next to his computer where an X-Man insignia screen saver bounced around. He had fallen asleep while working on something. Sometimes he was just a little too dedicated.  
  
She shook his shoulder, "Hank, wake up," she said. Hank stirred drowsily. "Hmm?" He mumbled, opening his eyes.  
  
"Rise and shine."  
  
He blinked at his computer a few times, and put on his glasses. "I must have fallen asleep." He said and turned to her. "Ororo? What are you doing down here at this late hour?"  
  
Storm had to laugh. "Late hour! Hank, It's almost six in the morning. I'm afraid you never made it to bed last night."  
  
"Oh, dear," he said. "Well, I fully intended to. I remember closing my eyes for a second, and then you appeared."  
  
"Yes. Several hours later."  
  
"Ah, well. Such is life," Hank replied standing up and stretching. "Is there something I can help you with?"  
  
Ororo explained why she was there, and Hank assured her that heartburn was very common later on in a pregnancy, and gave her some medication that wouldn't be harmful to the baby. Then he checked on Bobby, and shook his head, disappointed that there was no change. "Isn't there anything that can be done for him?" She asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.  
  
"If there were, my dear, I assure you that I would be doing it. All we can do is wait and hope." He attempted a pitiful smile at his friend. "Well, after my less then restful night, I believe I can use a cup or two of coffee. Would you care to join me with a cup of juice?"  
  
"Certainly. That sounds delightful."  
  
Hank grinned evilly. "Perhaps we can share a pack of twinkies as well. I believe you already know of all my hiding places."  
  
Storm actually blushed. "I...well..."  
  
Hank laughed out loud, and took her by the arm to lead her into the kitchen. "It is quite alright. You can repay me by naming your first born after me."  
  
Storm busied herself in the kitchen making breakfast while Hank went after the paper. There was another article on what had happened, this one actually more informative considering that a lot of the details weren't known by the time the papers were printed yesterday. Hank shook his head as he read it. "My stars and garters," he mumbled. "Would you believe that now they are saying an F.O.H. member was killed? I had no idea that Bobby was not the only victim."  
  
Storm frowned as she sat down next to him at the table. "But how is it possible one of them was killed? I mean, if someone from the F.O.H had the gun, why would he shoot one of his own men?"  
  
Hank shook his head. "No, not at the rally yesterday. Apparently, this man, one Barry Statler died several months ago. The journalist responsible for this piece was not talking about the actual incident the other day, but rather if there might be a connection to this man's death, and the recent string of mutant murders. And the rally of course. "  
  
"Well it is about time someone made the connection," Ororo said, reading the article over her teammate's shoulder. "We already knew this whole thing was some sort of retaliation. But it still does not make any sense to me. Why here? This says the man was a native of Boston, and frequently worked in Maine. Why did the F.O.H. choose to stage their revenge here in New York?"  
  
Hank rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "The only logical solution," he concluded. "Is that they must assume this Barry Statler's death is somehow related to Westchester. Or somewhere nearby. I cannot say that it makes total sense to me, either. But I have the feeling that what happened at that rally was not planned. There was some sort of other goal they hoped to attain that I do not believe they did."  
  
Ororo set down her cup of juice. She didn't like what he was getting at, but she couldn't deny that he was probably right. "Then, if that is the case, we haven't seen the last of them."  
  
Hank agreed, and for a few minutes that sat in silence, not wanting to think what could come next, but unable to think of anything else. Finally, Hank not being able to stand the silence, changed the subject to ask her if she knew whether or not Remy was up yet. He wanted to check on his stitches to make sure that they hadn't come lose. He tactfully stayed away from what he knew happened yesterday involving his drinking. Storm said she didn't know, but she wanted to talk to him, so she headed back upstairs to see.  
  
"Remy," she said, knocking on his door. "Are you awake? I need to talk to you." No answer. She opened his door, and was surprised to see that his light was on, but he wasn't there. She shrugged, and turned to leave, figuring that he must have gone out early again. But just as she was going to close his door, she saw a piece of paper lying on his bed. She picked it up, and was even more surprised to see that her name was on it. Stormy, it said. I want to apologize for what happened yesterday. It won't happen again. Don't think I'm running out on you, but there's something I have to do that I probably should have done a few months ago. I'll see you real soon. Love always, Remy.  
* * * * * * * *  
  
It was a clear blue day over Northern Alberta, Canada when Remy landed his small minijet near a clump of over grown pine trees seemingly in the middle of nowhere. But then, Cold River Place was essentially the middle of nowhere. Remy climbed out of his plane and looked around. There was not much to see.  
  
Cold River Place was as about as decollate a place as he had ever seen. They had the 'cold' part of the name right, anyhow, because he was freezing. Despite the fact that it was a clear, cloudless day, there was a whistling artic breeze that when it blew, he felt an incredible longing for a Louisiana August. He wondered, though, were they got the name Cold River Place from. As far as he could tell, there were no rivers anywhere. Hell, if there had been, they would have been skating ponds. He shivered and headed through the pine thicket into the empty frozen wasteland.  
  
The Albatross Bar and Grill was the beginning and the end of the entertainment available to the 200 or so permanent residents of Cold River Place. This small town's livelihood depended on hunting mainly, and tourists flocked here from as far away as Toronto and the Northern states to hunt Caribou mostly. It boggled the imagination to think that anyone would want to live here year round. Remy shook his head, as he headed to the bar. He would go insane from boredom.  
  
Inside, The Albatross was about as dingy and dank a bar as he had ever seen. And being from New Orleans, he had seen some real shit holes. Places that the tourists generally didn't even know about, let alone go to. He had gotten used to Harry's Hideaway and the other bars that catered to the mostly affluent community of Westchester County, and this place just about had the corner of the market on shit holes.  
  
The door creaked loudly as he opened it, and for a second he thought the dilapidated thing might fall off the hinges altogether. Inside, a light hummed with electricity blinking every now and then, briefly hiding the dinginess. The next thing he noticed was the smell, and it made him want to keel over. It reeked of blood, sweat, possibly vomit and God-only- knows what else. But he stepped in anyway, despite the bars appearance and smell, he was glad to be out of the bitter cold.  
  
Now inside, he got a better look of just what he was getting into. The bar itself occupied on entire corner of the place, and it looked just barely clean enough to pass health inspections, if they had such a thing out here. A big fat bald guy was asleep at the bar, snoring almost as loudly as the humming of the lights. Every now and then, he would grunt and scratch at his ass. Remy snorted out a laugh and sat down at the bar, wondering if anyone would be here. It was still pretty early in the morning.  
  
Someone did appear. A short, skinny bald guy that could have been the mini-me of the one asleep. They looked almost exactly the same except for the fact that the other guy was tall and fat, and this guy was a regular midget. He even made Wolverine look tall. "Well," the little man said, "something I can help you with, eh?" He even had the high voice of a little person, and mixed with a Canadian accent, sounded even funnier. He could barely see over the bar.  
  
"Yeah," Remy said. "I'm looking for someone. A friend of mine. I think he may have been comin' 'ere for a couple a months."  
  
"Well," he said again. "What does he look like?"  
  
Remy stared at the strange little man for a second. "Ah, well, he's short, but muscular, and hairy. Always in a bad mood. Got a funny hair style. His name's..."  
  
"Oh, yeah, eh," the man interrupted. "You must mine ol' Jim. Although he ain't so short to me. Funny hair, though, yah. Ha ha."  
  
What in the hell is with this guy? Mon Dieu these Canadians is strange. "Jim?" Remy asked, confused.  
  
"Yah, eh. Jim Logan be the man you want, I think. Fits your description anyway."  
  
"Oh, yeah," Remy said, grinning. "Jim, sure, he's the one. You know 'em?"  
  
The man nodded. "Oh, sure. Jim comes 'round here almost every night. Bad attitude, you hit that on the head, alright. But a fighter like I never saw. Real good for business. People come from miles to try and beat him. None have yet, ha ha."  
  
It was right at that moment that Remy caught sight of the large steel cage in the middle of the place. He didn't know how he could have possibly missed it before. It had to be twenty feet by twenty feet, and it vaguely resembled a primitive WWF ring, except that this one was surrounded on all four sides by chain link fence. The floor of it was wood covered in just enough padding so that when you hit it, if you were lucky, you might avoid breaking your neck. Overall, being in it did not look like a pleasant experience. He turned back to the midget. "You say that Log...I mean, Jim, fights in that thing almost every night?"  
  
"Oh, yah. I say, he be 'bout the best fighter I've ever seen. And I seen lots of cage fighters, ha ha. Maybe little, but when he fight, it's like an animal or something. I dunno, a bear, or a tiger, something."  
  
Or maybe a wolverine... "Yeah," Remy replied. "I know what you mean. So, do you think Jim'll be here tonight?"  
  
The man nodded emphatically. "Oh, sure. Friday's take on all comers. Anyone stupid enough to fight him can tonight. Don't know if too many people left who will, but we'll see, eh?" He paused and narrowed his eyes at Remy, almost suspiciously. "You not thinking about fighting him?"  
  
Remy felt a grin creep onto his face. "We see, homme. We see."  
  
"That a nasty cut you got there, friend," the man continued. "But I tell you, I seen ol' Jim do much worse."  
  
He had almost forgotten about the cut on his head Beast had stitched up. It burned right then almost as if it knew he had mentioned it. But Logan wouldn't really hurt him, at least, he didn't think. Maybe fighting him ain't such a bad idea. Whatever it takes to get it through his thick head that I ain't leaving here without him. "I wouldn't worry," Remy said. "Logan...I mean, Jim may be a damn good fighter, but he got buttons jus' like everyone else. You jus' gotta know how to push 'em."  
  
The little man stared at him like he was insane. He told him that the cage fighting would start around six that night, and he was welcome to stay there until then, if he wanted. He didn't know where Logan lived, but he doubted it was in town. He may have a cabin somewhere, but there was an endless amount of open space around here, and it was easy to get lost, according to Shorty. Remy did not particularly want to go back out in the freezing cold, and possibly end up lost and frozen to some tree stump in the middle of nowhere. He opted to spend the day waiting in the bar.  
  
A few hours later, he had all but decided that a bar was not the best place for a recovering alcoholic. He had drank three cups of coffee, (or what the little man said was coffee, it tasted more like liquid dirt), and later in the day, added four cokes to that. He had also been to the bathroom three times. But at least had avoided the tempting bottle of scotch that he could all but taste, staring at him from right behind the bar.  
  
For most of the day, the bar was completely empty, and besides drinking way too much bad coffee and soda, he spent the day talking to the midget. He came to find out that the man was the owner of The Albatross, and that his name was Steve MacDonald. The fat guy, who eventually woke up, and went out in the kitchen, actually was his brother, although according to Steve, he "wasn't right in the head, ha ha." His brother, Herbert, served the purpose of the bar's 'cook' and also the bouncer when things got rough. "Ol' Herbie may not be much in the way of thinking," Steve had said. "But he be strong as a bull, and folks round here be knowing that Herbie's not to be messed with, eh." He also told him that he had a third brother, Charlie, who managed the place and was sort of the 'm.c.' of the cage. His job there was mainly to make sure that no one killed anyone. That was the one rule in the cage.  
  
Eventually, Remy managed to get the conversation back to Logan. He asked him how long he had been coming here, and Shorty said that he figured about six months now. That would mean that he came straight here as soon as he had found out what happened involving the three of them. Frankly, it pissed him off. The baby, after all, could be his just as easily. What right did he have?  
  
Finally, around five that afternoon, people began to show up, although Logan was not one of them. None of them really paid much attention to Remy, but Steve seemed to know everyone that came in. Soon, the bar had about ten people or so in it, but in a town like this, that was a lot. The only thing he really noticed about them was that they all talked as strangely as the little midget. He briefly wondered why Logan didn't talk that way, and if he ever had in the past.  
  
The minutes ticked by, and as the six o'clock hour drew nearer, Remy began to wonder if maybe Logan wasn't coming after all. It would be just his luck. He hated to think that he may have to stay at this place over night, but he wasn't going to show back at home without the man.  
  
"Don't worry, friend," Steve said at one point, "Jim, I tell you, he be here. Always on a Friday he be here."  
  
Before Remy could respond, a cute blond lady wearing a skanky red dress came up and leaned on the counter. She'd been eying him from the minute she walked in. She didn't exactly look the type of girl that would live in the middle-of-no where Canada, with her big boobs, tons of makeup and especially the way she was dressed, but who knew what to expect from these Canadians? "Hi, Stevie," she said in a seductive voice.  
  
Steve almost dropped the glass he was holding. "Hi...hi, Laura," he stuttered in his funny little voice. "Um...can I get you something?"  
  
Remy watched in amusement as Steve tried to set the glass back on the counter, but missed. It shattered on the floor, and Laura giggled. "Oh, Stevie." He obviously had a thing for her, but as far as Remy was concerned, he'd seen (and had) better. He definitely liked 'the femmes'; that was well known around anyone who knew him, but unlike most men, he really didn't like dumb women. There was no challenge with them, and he lived for challenges.  
  
She turned to Remy and giggled again. He especially hated women that giggled. "Hi," she said. "I've never seen you around here before."  
  
Remy finished off the last of his third and final coke. "That's 'cause I never been here before."  
  
"I'm Laura," she said, offering a dainty hand. "I work for Stevie here. Who are you, handsome?"  
  
"Remy," he said, taking her hand to be polite. He could almost see the steam escape from the midget owner's ears as Laura drooled over him. Although frankly, he had nothing to worry about. The only woman he cared about was home in Westchester. Laura, however, didn't seem to take a hint very well.  
  
"That's a cute name," she said, leaning closer to him. He could have seen straight down her dress if he wanted to. "You've got a cute accent, too. Where you from, cutie?"  
  
I wonder if she know any other word but 'cute.' "I'm from New Orleans, originally." Meanwhile, Steve looked as if he might drop another glass on the floor, this time on purpose. His face was turning purple and the veins seemed to be taking over. "Something to drink Laura, before you getta work?" He said, sticking his head in between the two of them.  
  
Laura reached out and tussled his hair. What he had left, anyway. "No, thanks, Stevie." She turned to Remy, and leaned so close that he could smell the scent of her shampoo, mixed with what he guessed was breath mints. "But you can buy me one later on my break, Remy from New Orleans. I want to hear all about that cute city. And how you got that wicked cute cut on your head." She ran a finger down his cheek, and gave one last giggle before turning and shaking her ass as she headed over into the kitchen. Remy cocked an eyebrow, and turned back to Steve. He almost regretted doing so. If looks could kill...  
  
"Hey, pal," the little man quipped, pointing a finger at him. "Stay away from her, eh. Customers and employees should stay apart."  
  
"Oh, don't worry," Remy said. "That won't be a problem. She not my type, homme."  
  
Steve frowned. "You married, eh?"  
  
"No, I ain't, but..."  
  
Steve slammed down another coke on the counter, even though he hadn't asked for one. "You ain't married, you're interested. Every man want a piece of Laura Tupper."  
  
He shook his head adamantly. "You wrong, homme. She all yours."  
  
Steve ignored him, and went over to wait on some other guys that had sat down at the bar. Remy spun around on his bar stool and noticed that while he had been 'distracted' with the giggling Laura, the place had gotten pretty crowded. People were starting to find seats on the bleachers that were on either side of the fight cage. Deciding it was probably better to stay away from the little bar owner for awhile, Remy got up and joined the others over there.  
  
The crowd was as rowdy and loud as he had ever seen, especially after a third bald man arrived inside the cage. Everyone started hooting and pumping their hands in the air. "Ladies and Gentleman!" The man said, "Are you ready to rumble?" Everyone yelled and hooted their responses. Remy wondered what they thought this was, the WWF or what? To these Canadians, cage fighting at this dumpy bar must have been as good as professional wrestling or boxing. The bald man in the cage must be the third MacDonald brother. Curiously enough, he looked like an odd combination of the other two. He was tall, like the 'slow' one, Herbert, and thin like Steve, the midget bartender. But the only other thing the three of them seemed to have in common was a shiny head.  
  
The first couple of cage matches started then, and they were pretty boring. The guys that fought in them looked like truckers or lumberjacks, guys that were big and strong, but didn't know shit about fighting. Remy cracked up more then once at their 'technique.' They swung at the air, tried really dumb moves like choking each other, and sometimes resorted to childish pushing and shoving. Obviously, no one in Cold River Place knew very much about fighting strategy.  
  
Soon enough, Remy was bored. And it wasn't just due to the rock hard bleachers, the annoying fighters, and the fact that Logan still hadn't shown up. Not even alcohol could have made it more exciting. He was sick of this damn place he'd been stuck in all day, and he wanted to go home. Actually, he wanted to go anywhere that wasn't here. Finally, he could stand it no longer. To Hell with Logan, he was going to the can and getting out of here. He could track him down some other time. If he had to, he would fly his mini-jet over the whole damn country and land at every cabin he passed along the way.  
  
Coming out of the bathroom, he realized that in the two minutes he had spent in there, the place had gotten noticeably louder and more crowded. The place was now packed with hooting Canadians, and he had to push several of them out of his way just to get back to the bar room. Once there, he saw what they were so excited about. There was a pretty good fight going on in the ring that must have just started up. One guy was the obvious aggressor. He was a big guy, nearly as big as Bishop, Remy realized, and that was pretty damn big. He had to be six and a half feet tall and must have weighed close to 300, most of it muscle. The other thing he noticed was that while none of the other guys he had watched knew a damn thing about fighting, this guy did for the most part. He was pretty good.  
  
However, that was nothing compared to what really caught Remy's attention. The man he was fighting was short, hairy, and already covered in blood and sweat. Logan.  
  
Remy managed to push his way nearer to the cage so he could have a better view of what was going on. He had been surprised for a half a second, but that had long since worn off. Things were starting to go his way now. It was just a matter of waiting to see what happened, and playing it by ear.  
  
"C'mon Earl!" A short, drunk guy yelled standing next to him, waving a beer bottle around like one of those giant floppy hands people had in football games. "Kick his ass! C'mon!"  
  
It certainly seemed as if this Earl would kick Logan's ass. He had him down on the floor and was wailing away with a sledgehammer type blow on his back. Remy was close enough now that he could almost smell the growing anger on his teammate's breath, and he grinned to himself.  
  
"Yea!" The man screamed. "Yea, Earl, yea!" He waved his beer around some more, sending a spray across the crowd. Remy grabbed his arm, stopping him.  
  
"Hey, man, what's your problem?" The little man quipped, breaking free.  
  
"I wouldn't be so happy if I were you," he informed him. "Your friend ain't gonna win."  
  
The man stopped hollering long enough to give him a bewildered look. "You crazy, eh? You watching this thing, eh? Earl's kicking his ass! This Jim not so tough as they all say."  
  
Remy gave him a grin. "You don't know 'em like I do, homme."  
  
Almost as if the two of them had planned it, Remy watched as right then Logan decided to make his move. Earl, being much bigger and not having near the stamina as he, was getting tired. His punches were losing the steam they had had in the beginning of the fight, and he, along with the rest of the crowd were starting to realize that Logan had just been biding his time, waiting for the man to tire, and now he was going to take control of the match. He got to his feet as quick as a cat leaping on his pray, and he was all over the man. An uppercut to the head sent Earl flying backward into the safety net, and a roundhouse kick to the guy's chest all but gave him whiplash he fell so quick. Logan paused, watching as the big man's body jerked around subconsciously, trying to get out of his way, but not succeeding. These were the times when he allowed his feral behavior to take over, and he was reveling in it. Remy could swear he could see the man smile as he let out a growl and used his foot to thrust it into the big man's head, easily giving him a concussion, almost caving in the top of his skull. The bell clanged, the fight was over.  
  
Logan ran his fingers through his sweaty, tangled mass of hair, and turned to the crowd, giving them an animalistic grin, fangs barred. The whole place had grown much quieter, watching as Herbert, the bouncer, dragged Earl out of the cage by his arms. Charlie, the mc, appeared, and even he looked slightly shocked at what had just taken place.  
  
"Well, well, folks, I've seen it but I don't believe it! Could it be that this man is unbeatable?" Charlie spoke, using a mike, to the crowd. "Isn't there anyone here worthy enough to fight this man?"  
  
There weren't a lot of volunteers.  
  
"Anyone?" Charlie asked. "Or are we going to just have to retire Jim Logan as an undefeated champion?"  
  
Even the biggest men in the crowd, Remy observed, were avoiding Charlie's gaze. They certainly didn't want their buddies to think that they were wimps, but after seeing what had happened to ol' Earl, they weren't to eager to have their heads bashed it either.  
  
"Well, Jim," Charlie continued. "I guess that's that. I'll have to..."  
  
"I'll fight him."  
  
The stunned crowd immediately became alive again, turning to each other to see who could be insane enough to go up against this juggernaut of a man.  
  
"Well, it seems there is someone brave enough to fight our champion. Would the challenger please step into the ring?" Charlie asked, glancing at the crowd.  
  
Remy got a hold of the ring's ropes, and hoisted himself up, climbing into the ring. He could sense the crowd's doubtfulness as they started muttering to each other. There were hoots of laughter. He couldn't honestly say he blamed them. Even though he had more than a half-foot height advantage over Logan, they were almost equally matched in weight thanks to Logan's adamantium and musculature, and the fact that Remy had always had a slight build. But he had an advantage over the man that no one else did: he knew him. He knew how he worked, how he ticked. And as he had told Steve MacDonald, he knew what buttons to push. Besides, he had something else as well, a secret weapon. An ace of his sleeve, if you will.  
  
In the few seconds it took before Logan's brain made the connection, he had a confident grin on his bloodied-up face, but that faded the minute he recognized Remy. But before he could say a word, Charlie motioned them to the respective corners. "All right then!" He said. "Our man has arrived. It seems we have a fight here, folks!" He put his hand over the mike, and slid over to Remy who hadn't taken his eyes off of Logan. "You sure you wanna do this, son? You saw what he did to that guy, didn't you? And Earl's twice as big as you! Plus, you already got a nasty cut there." He motioned to the side of Remy's head, which he'd been trying to forget about. It still hurt like Hell, but he could ignore it. Rolling his eyes, he dropped his long overcoat to the floor. If there was one thing in this world he hated, it was being called 'son.' Who was he to be so concerned over his welfare anyway? Probably he was afraid that Logan would mash his brains in and it would ruin his patrons' good time. "You just sit back and watch, mon ami," Remy told him, patting his shoulder. "Things ain't always what they seem."  
  
Charlie MacDonald gave him a look that clearly said he thought he was nuts.  
  
Stepping out of the way, he motioned for the fight to commence as the bell chimed once. Remy stretched out his arms, hoping Logan would avoid the stitches on his face. He wouldn't put it past him to pull them out with those claws of his one at a time. The crowd had picked up considerably, and they were now hooting once more, pumping their arms in the air, cheering them on.  
  
Logan, however, just stood in his corner, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed. He had a look in his icy blue eyes that said it all. "What the Hell are you doing here?" He growled as Remy stepped into the center of the ring.  
  
"Decided I needed to get out the house for 'while," he said sarcastically.  
  
Logan snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, right."  
  
"Okay," Remy said, getting even closer. "I came here to take you back home. That good 'nough for you?"  
  
Logan was not amused. "Get out of here, kid. I ain't fighting you."  
  
Something inside him tweaked. He made it sound as if he were taking on Xavier or Jubilee or something. "And just why not? You think you can beat me that easy?"  
  
"This ain't a Danger Room training simulation," Logan said "I don't wanna fight you here in the ring. And you sure as Hell don't wanna fight me."  
  
"Whatever it takes to get you back where you belong," Remy countered. It was almost funny. He never would have cared before, but things were different now. It was time he stopped acting like an impulsive kid, and started acting like a responsible member of the team.  
  
"You think just 'cause you showed up here, I'm gonna come back with you that easy?" He added with a sneer. "Thought you knew me better than that, kid."  
  
Meanwhile, the crowd was growing restless. "What's the hold- up?" Some yelled. "Come on, damnit, fight!" Remy glanced at the crowd, and then at Logan. "They're waitin', mon ami. They 'spect to see a fight."  
  
Logan growled in their general direction. Remy knew that he didn't care what they thought. He pointed a finger at his fellow X-Man accusingly. "No one tells me what to do, Cajun. I'll leave here when I'm damn good and ready!"  
  
Remy nodded. "Okay. You win. I'll make you a deal, then. Fight me. If you win, I'll leave. If I win, you come back with me. Deal?"  
  
Logan snorted once again, and licked some blood off the corner of his mouth, thinking. The wounds from his last battle were already healing. Finally, he gave a slight nod. "Okay, Gumbo. I'll play your little game."  
  
Remy smiled inwardly. He had him just where he wanted him. "Then let's rock."  
  
The fight began. Slowly, the two X-Men circled each other, studying. Remy knew that in a closed arena like this ring, Logan would have the advantage. Although he preferred hunting and chasing his quarry, he knew how to fight hand-to-hand. That wasn't to say that Remy didn't, but he grew up learning the Thief way of fighting. Be invisible, like a shadow. Hit, and run. And then there was the fact that he couldn't very well use his powers here, while Logan, with the exception of his claws, still could. But as stated, the thief always had an ace up his sleeve. And soon enough, Wolverine was going to find that out.  
  
Logan finally got tired of circling, and pounced. Literally. It wasn't the smartest move on his part, and Remy knew the only reason the man had even tried it was to see if he could surprise him, catch him off-balance. However, with Remy's reflexes, it didn't work. He immediately fell to his back, and caught him mid-air, slowing his momentum with his arms, before he flipped the man head-over-heels with one strong thrust from his right leg. Logan went flying, but righted himself in time to land hard on his feet. His head, however, slammed into one of the ring poles, cutting it above his left eyebrow. The impact caused the unstable floor to shake as if there were a sudden earthquake, but he got up, annoyed, and not even remotely hurt.  
  
Now it was Remy's turn to be offensive. While Logan was still slightly off-balance because of the hit to his head, he propelled himself forward, dropping to his knees, head straight out, driving himself into the man like a torpedo. It wouldn't normally be the smartest move given the fact that Logan's adamantium substructure could give him a concussion if he hit him right. But of course, Remy realized this, and at the last possible second, he turned and instead of simply plowing into him, he grabbed his legs and pulled them out from under him. It was a wonder it worked, but somehow it did. Logan slammed hard into the mat landing straight on his back, hard enough that had he been a normal person, he probably would have snapped his spinal cord in half.  
  
He growled, and got to his feet, as did Remy. "Just try that again, bub, just try it." He narrowed his eyes into dark slits and motioned for Remy to attack. "Come on!"  
  
"Well, okay," he agreed. "If you insist."  
  
He pulled a similar move, fully knowing that Logan would be expecting it this time. Sure enough, Logan stepped aside, but just as Remy anticipated he aimed his foot fully ready to kick him right in the face. Instead, he grabbed his boot, and activated the small device that he had been concealing in his pants pocket. "What the...?" Logan exclaimed, and both he and Remy transported back to his ship, leaving nothing behind but a puff of smoke.  
  
"Damn, I didn't think it would work!" Remy exclaimed. He was kind of excited about it. He knew that Hank, in whatever spare time he had, had been trying to duplicate Nightcrawler's powers of transporting. Although Storm had not been paying the least bit attention to the conversation that night at dinner six months ago, Remy had. Hank had said he'd created an apparatus that locked on to a person's genetic signature and that of anyone they touched and transported them to wherever they visualized in a two-mile radius. They only thing was, he hadn't tested it yet. Remy and Logan had taken care of that for him. It seems that he had succeeded.  
  
"What did you do?" Logan asked, looking around the minijet. "How the hell did you do that?"  
  
Remy quickly explained. "I win," he added, with a cocky grin.  
  
Logan glared at him. "Take me back to the bar, now."  
  
He shook his head, and engaged the engines. "I can't do that. You're coming home with me, homme." Logan glared at him, and headed for the bulkhead door, claws unsheathed, fully intending to claw his way out. Remy spun in the pilot's chair and hit the button that activated the steel safety door that had just been installed. It shot down in less than a second. "You ain't gonna get out that way," he said. "Less you use your claws and by the time you saw your way through, we gonna be 20,000 feet up. You think you can survive a fall like that?" He was threw messing around. Logan was coming home, come Hell or high water.  
  
If he had really wanted to, Remy knew that Logan could overtake the plane. But he was betting that it wouldn't come to that. He was right. Logan sighed, and resheathed his claws. "Alright," he said. "But you gotta lot of explaining to do. For example, how the Hell did ya know I was here?"  
  
"You ain't that hard to figure out," Remy mumbled, imputing his intended destination.  
  
Logan cocked an eyebrow, and folded his arms. "Is that so? Well, then, if I'm so damn easy to figure out you should know that I can't come back right now."  
  
Remy put the plane on auto-pilot, and swung his chair around. "And just why not? Is what happened 'tween you, Stormy and me that big of deal? Okay, I get it that you're pissed 'bout it, but..."  
  
"'Roro and the baby don't got nothing ta do with this, Cajun," Logan interrupted. "I admit, that's why I left, but the reason I've been gone all this time don't have nothin' ta do with that." Unsheathing a single claw, he seemed to examine it intensely while he explained what had happened a few months ago involving the F.O.H. soldier that he killed. "You see, that's why I've been staying here. I didn't want to endanger the whole institute if I came back. They're lookin' for me, I know it."  
  
Remy leaned forward in his chair. Suddenly, this whole thing made sense. Storm had said something about the rally. That it had been a retaliation against something. If Logan had killed one of their members, it only made sense that they may stage the rally to get at him. Maybe they had traced him back to Westchester, but didn't know exactly who he was. They knew if they started wasting mutants in the area that it would scare the locals. Maybe into giving up Logan. They must not know that he lived at the institute. And then, things had gotten out of hand, and Bobby...  
  
"What?" Logan asked, seeing the expression on his face.  
  
Remy cleared his throat nervously. "This ain't gonna be easy for you to hear." He explained about the murders, the rally, and about what happened to Bobby Drake.  
Logan stared at him as it sunk in, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath. "Those Friends of Fuckin' Humanity. I can't believe it. I thought I was protecting you guys but not comin' back. Now it turns out I was just making it worse."  
  
Remy shook his head. "You didn't know, mon ami. How could you? But now you see why you gotta come back? You're healing factor may be the only thing that can save Drake."  
  
Logan was shaking his head, fists clenched. "But my coming back could just make everything worse. If those bastards find me..."  
  
"We worry 'bout that later. Right now, you need to be there for Bobby. And Stormy."  
  
Still growling under his breath, he paced back and forth a little, thinking. Logan was a man who lived by his own rules, his own code, and if there was one thing he didn't take, it was others telling him what to do. But there was another side of him as well, and Remy knew it. He believed heavily in loyalty and honor. Loyalty and honor to your friends. And right now, someone was screwing with his friends. Screwing with them to get at him. Damned if he was going to stand for something like that. "Yeah, I get it," he said, having a seat in the co-pilots chair. "You're right, Gumbo. This whole damn thing is my fault. And I gotta make it right."  
  
Okay, I don't want any nasty e-mails from Canadians telling me that they don't talk like that. It was purely for artistic interpretation. Well, Wolvie's back. Things have to go smooth now, right? Ha ha ha.... 


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks once again to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I wanted to get this chapter up before finals next week...enjoy!  
  
It was early the next day, the third day since the accident, as Storm sat by Bobby's bedside. Although it was certainly not an accident, she thought. Logan and Remy had arrived home late last night, but she hadn't had a chance yet to talk to either of them. She had no idea why Logan had come home, seemingly without a fight, or even why he had been gone so long. Neither he nor Remy had explained a thing. She had tons of questions for him, actually. "Well, perhaps now I shall get some answers, right?"  
  
Bobby, of course, didn't answer. A bag of seemingly normal blood hung above him, a tube connecting it to his wrist. It contained a pint of Logan's blood. With any luck, the antigens in it that excelled the healing process in Logan would work in Bobby as well. It was something they had tried in the past. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. All they could do was hope. "It will work, Robert," she whispered. "I just know it will. And now that's he's back, I am hopeful that he will stay. But even if he doesn't, I am still grateful that he came back at all."  
  
"Glad to hear you say that, Ro." Storm turned, startled, and saw Logan standing in the doorway. He looked...well, exactly like he had when he left. He didn't look the least bit guilty, or angry, or anything. He looked as if the last six months hadn't even happened. He came in and sat down across from her on the other side of Bobby. "How is he?" Logan asked gesturing toward him.  
  
"No change," Storm said.  
  
He nodded, expecting as much. He wasn't nearly as hopeful as she. "I suppose you're surprised that I'm here."  
  
"Should I be?"  
  
Logan sighed. "Look, darlin', I know what you must be thinkin'. I know now that I shouldn't have ran off like that, but I really do have a good reason why I was gone so long."  
  
Of course you do. "And that would be what?"  
  
Logan leaned forward, staring at her with those intense blue eyes. It was amazing how much you could tell about a person through their eyes. Storm definitely believed in the saying that the eyes were the window to the soul. Logan's were the color of melting ice, reflecting the cold loner that he was most of the time. But Storm knew enough about him to know that he wasn't always that way. She considered him a friend, a good friend at that, and she didn't want anything, not even her baby to compromise that. "When I was up north," he began, "at first, I went just to get used to the idea of me maybe havin' a kid. I never planned on staying so long."  
  
"So why did you?" She asked.  
  
"Something happened involving the Friends a'flamin' Humanity. You're probably better off not knowin' the details, just in case, but I figured I better stay away from here for awhile."  
  
Storm was immediately concerned. "What happened?" She asked, despite the fact that he had just said he couldn't say. "I mean, are you in trouble?"  
  
Logan shrugged. "I don't really know. I hope not. But don't worry, darlin'. I'm home now, home to stay. I understand that you probably ain't to happy with me, and you have every right to."  
  
"Logan," Ororo said, shaking her head. "I admit that I was mad at first. But if you say you have a good reason for being gone, then I believe you, and I forgive you. But if you are in trouble..."  
  
"Don't worry 'bout me," he grumbled. "I can take care of myself."  
  
Storm felt her entire body tense. Why did he always think that he never needed any help? He had to be the most hard-headed man she knew. "Why are you always so stubborn?"  
  
He snorted and didn't respond. "Trust me, darlin', you're better off not knowing about what happened. It could come back to bite you in the ass. I probably shouldn't have told Gumbo either, but I didn't have a choice. Let's just say this whole damn thing," he motioned to Bobby, "may be my doing."  
  
Storm stood up in exasperation, glaring at him. She had to admit that the fact that he told Gambit and would not tell her bothered her. "What are you saying? That you shot Bobby? Because if that's not the case, which of course it is not, than this is not your fault."  
  
He sighed. "Listen, Ro. I'll tell you this much. The reason Drake got shot is 'cause the F.O.H is looking for me. Something happened while I was in Alberta and I think they're after me. They staged that rally to get to me."  
  
"But why?" She persisted, not even remotely picking up on the connection between what he was saying and what she and Beast had discussed the other day at breakfast. "What happened, Logan, tell me."  
  
"Damnit Ro!" Logan growled. "I'm trying to make this easy for you."  
  
"Who says I want you to?"  
  
Logan glared at her through clenched teeth. Ororo glared right back. All of a sudden, they heard a croaking sound through the beeping of the machines. Both immediately turned to Bobby. His eyes were open, and he was struggling to breath with the tube down his throat. He looked like Hell warmed over, but he was conscious. Logan's blood had worked! Storm quickly sat back down. "Bobby," she whispered to him, taking his hand. "Bobby, can you hear me?" He jerked his head slightly in a nod. He motioned with his eyes for her to take out the tube, which she did. "Hey," he croaked, looking at her. She leaned in closer to hear him. "Can't a guy get any sleep without you guys yelling at each other?"  
  
Storm smiled and squeezed his hand, looking up at Logan. Logan grinned. "Welcome back, kid."  
  
Ororo was so surprised that he had woken up that she nearly forgot all about telling the others. Hank would want to know right away. "I think I'd better go and get Hank," she told her friends, leaving the two of them alone.  
  
Logan sat back down next to his friend. "Where the Hell have you been?" Bobby stammered.  
  
"No where special," he replied. "I'll tell you all about it when you're feelin' up to it."  
  
Bobby got a serious look on his face. "Logan, don't be mad at Ro. She's been through a lot since you took off. She really is glad you're back, I'm sure."  
  
Logan nodded. "Hell, I wish she hadn't let me off so easy. If I was her, I'd be royally pissed at me."  
  
"Yeah, but it doesn't take much for you to get pissed." Bobby grinned up at him weakly.  
  
"Hey, kid, don't think just 'cause you were just in a coma that I won't still kick you cocky little ass," Logan said, but he had to smile back.  
  
March  
  
Over the next several weeks, Bobby slowly recovered, getting stronger every day. Soon he was well enough to get out of bed, and everyone took turns pushing him around in a wheelchair. He seemed to like all the attention, particularly from Rogue[1], as the two of them had grown close, and that certainly helped him along.  
  
At first, it was strange having Logan home again. Ororo felt funny around him, as if she was unsure how to act. He seemed to walk on eggshells around her, surprising because he never acted this way. If she didn't know him better, she would think that he was afraid of her. Or as Remy had put it, he was 'mad 'cause she wasn't mad at him.' She had told him that that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, but it could be true. It would be just like him.  
  
But at least things were quiet again, and she could focus on her baby once again. She was eight months pregnant now, and with every passing day there was a growing realization that very soon she was going to be a mother. The others must have realized it as well, and one warm day in early March they all through her a baby shower. It wasn't really just for her, though, it was also a get well soon party for Bobby, and a sort-of welcome back for Logan. Of course, that meant that the guys were there as well, but she didn't mind men at her baby shower. The typical ultra- competitive males that they were, you would have thought that they were playing for huge prizes when it came time for games. Warren almost killed himself in the diaper relay when he got his wing caught on a table, and there was a fight about Kurt using his powers to teleport to beat everyone. Jean looked at her and rolled her eyes. "Men," she said. "You know, your baby's not even here yet and it's already like a daycare center around here." Storm had to agree. Thankfully, they all calmed down enough to devour Jean's delicious homemade carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, Storm's favorite. Everyone had also, of course, all bought her presents, even though she had insisted that they didn't have to. She had gotten everything from baby clothes, to toys and baby supplies, to some kind of sword from Bishop (for the baby's protection, he said) and the final present, a car.  
  
She had never been more shocked in her life, or at least in the last eight months. It was a brand new bright red Ford Windstar mini van, from the Professor. She had realized some time ago that it would have been impossible to have a baby without a car, and that she would have to get one some time. Remy and Logan both had Harleys, and Logan also had bought another piece of crap jeep to replace the one he lost up north, but of course it wasn't possible to drive a baby around on a bike. She did feel a bit strange excepting such an extravagant gift, but Charles insisted.  
  
Ororo's room was now all ready for the baby. She had decided that it would sleep with her in her loft for awhile before moving down to the nursery. Everything was set up, and as she sat looking around, she felt a little...uneasy. Did all soon to be mothers feel like this? Probably. There was a little bit of excitement mixed in with the uneasiness, though. She smiled down at her bulging stomach. "I guess soon enough I will find out everything about you. Will you be sensible like me, charming like Remy or maybe reckless like Logan? I wonder whom you will look like. Of course, that will all depend on who your father is..."  
  
"Talkin' to the baby, hehn?"  
  
Storm didn't look up, but she didn't have to, "Good morning, Remy." He stood in her doorway, immaculately dressed in black jeans and a sweater. She hadn't heard him come in, but she was used to that. And anyway, she could recognize him by the smell of his cologne. Stetson. Very sexy.  
  
"Mornin' Stormy" he said, sliding into her loft as quiet as a mouse. "Came to see if you wanted to go shoppin' with me."  
  
"Not if you are going to call me that." She gave him a look, but he only grinned. She knew that she was wasting her breath, but it was a habit. "What are you going shopping for?"  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno. Just an excuse to get out the house. Spend some quality time with my favorite weather Goddess." He moved over to put his arm around her.  
  
She laughed. "That sounds nice actually. I have been cooped up here for awhile. But if you call me Stormy just once, I will electrocute you."  
* * * * * * *  
  
"Wait, I have to go to the bathroom again."  
  
Remy stopped mid-stride. "Again? You just went like five minutes ago. There something wrong with you or what?" They were on Main Street in Salem Center, the main shopping district of the wealthy area of Westchester, and it seemed every bathroom in the whole town had been visited by her.  
  
"Yes, there's something wrong with me. I have a five pound baby inside of me squashing my bladder into the size of a pea. Now wait here." Storm headed into the nearest restaurant as quick as she could. Remy could only sigh, as he pushed his way through the heavy Saturday morning crowds, he went in and had a seat. It was one of those chain coffee houses, the kind that were on every street corner. A cute dark haired waitress casually strolled by, "Hi," she said, in an obviously flirting way. Her voice suggested mid-western or possibly Texas. Close to home. "What can I get you?"  
  
Remy grinned as charmingly as he could. "Bonjour, chere. What you got that good here?"  
  
"Well," she said, "If you're European, we have really good espresso here. I hear that it tastes very...strong." She emphasized the word strong and gave him a knowing look.  
  
"Really? Well, that sound good. I love anything that be strong."  
  
She giggled. "One espresso coming right up." She turned and gave him a wink over her shoulder as she made her way to the counter. Damn, she hot. Remy considered following her and getting her number, but Stormy probably wouldn't like that. Wait a minute, Stormy...She had been gone an awful long time. He wondered if anything was wrong.  
  
"Hey, I've got your espresso right here," the waitress said. "It's nice and...steamy."  
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Remy replied, "Oh, I be right back, chere. You just keep it hot for me."  
  
The waitress turned to one of the other girls and they both giggled. Remy wanted nothing more than to stay and flirt awhile, but Stormy came first.  
  
The bathroom was in the back of the place, and he spent several seconds just staring at it, wondering how he was going to find out if she was okay. He didn't want to go in there. It was a ladies room for God's sake. It was some how...perverted. Finally, after glancing to make sure no one was around, he opened the door a crack. "Stormy?" He called. "You okay?" No answer. He opened the door a little more. It looked empty. "Oh, damn, I forgot. Sorry I called you that. 'Ro, you in here or what?" Still no answer. He was getting concerned. Forgetting how he felt, he pushed the door all the way open. "Come on, chere, this ain't funny."  
  
Inside, Remy realized that it looked pretty much like a men's room without the urinals except that it was cleaner and smelled better. He realized something else though. All the stall doors were open. She wasn't here. "What the...?" He asked confused. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge shadow came down on him so quick that he didn't even have time to react. Not even his excellent reflexes were fast enough to save him this time. He felt a sharp pain in his neck, a needle. It had to be. "What are you...doing?" He managed to say, but there was no answer. He felt as if he were falling, falling fast, and then everything grew dark. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.  
  
Ahh...there's nothing like a good cliff-hanger to get the blood pumping...until after finals, then, mes amis! ----------------------- [1] Okay, I'm going with a little movie-verse here. Bobby and Rogue may end up a couple, but only in a sequel. Sorry to all Remy/Rogue shippers! 


	13. Chapter13

Yea! Finals are over! Okay, I've kept Rem and Ro safe, but now all bets are off...Please read and review!  
  
Very slowly, Remy regained consciousness. There was a terrible pain in his neck, and although he kept his eyes closed, it still felt as though he were being blinded by a horribly bright light. His mind was fogged by a red haze, and he struggled to remember what had happened and where he was.  
  
Although his throat was parched and dry, he managed to let out a croak as he attempted to feel his neck, to see why it was throbbing. It wasn't until then that he realized why the rest of his body ached; he was strapped down to some sort of board, so tightly in fact that the straps cut into his skin, even restricting his breathing. His lungs burned, his eyes burned, and in fact there was hardly a part of his body that didn't hurt, one way or another.  
  
It was a battle for him to even open his eyes, but after a while he managed to force one part way. He hadn't realized that he was also very dizzy, but he must have been because the ceiling began to spin. For some reason, the light bothered his eyes horribly, but his mind was too foggy to know why. They had always been sensitive to bright lights, but it didn't seem like the light was any stronger than a normal room.  
  
Eventually, the spinning stopped, and his eyes adjusted some what to the light, although they still burned with tears. He tried to focus his mind, to concentrate on the ceiling, so as to prevent being overwhelmed by the pain and loss of memory. It wasn't easy.  
  
He couldn't lift his head to see the rest of the room where he was apparently being held captive, but he had learned from his life as both a thief and an X-Man that sometimes the simplest things can tell a lot. The ceiling, for instance, was plain sterile white, smooth, without spackle. He was guessing that one of the reasons the room was so bright was because it was all white. Darker colors would have dulled the brightness of the ceiling, and brighter colors would have been reflected on it. As best as Remy could tell, the whole room was white, like a hospital. However, he realized that hospitals don't usually keep their patients strapped to boards with metal restraints...  
  
Somewhere on the other side of the room, he heard what sounded like someone moving around. Remy tried to talk, to let whoever was there know that he was awake, but in the end, all he could manage was a croaking sound. The words just would not come out of his mouth. So instead he shifted around as much as the restraints would allow, which unfortunately was not much, hoping to attract attention. Whoever was holding him obviously wanted to make sure that he stayed put because not only were his arms and legs shackled down in these unusual steel straps, but also his chest, shoulders, and even his head.  
  
Whoever was there must have heard him because Remy heard the sound of his boots on the metal floor as he stood up. "Hey, I think he's awake," came a man's voice. A second later, he saw a young, blond-haired man with a heavy cleft chin standing over him with a nasty sneer on his face. Immediately, he recognized where he must be. The man had on the black and red uniform of a Friends of Humanity soldier. And even if he had somehow never seen one of these odious people before, it would have been hard to miss the letters 'F.O.H' on his hat, jacket pocket, and on the white sash on his arm. To Remy, the blood red letters written on it represented Satan himself. If he had feared for his life before, that fear was now multiplied ten full.  
  
The blond man standing over him poked at him hard with a gloved finger. "Hey, mutie," he said, "are you awake?"  
  
Remy glared back at him with all the hate he could manage, given the state he was in. The man seemed to get the message and snickered. "Yeah, he's awake, sir. Probably eager for visitors, too." He spoke in to some kind of communicator in his watch, eerily similar to the one Remy himself uses with the X- Men. The only difference appeared to be that he wore an earpiece to hear the response. He wondered briefly who the man was talking to, but there was a much more important thing to find out.  
  
"Where..." he managed, "where...is she?" The words burned in his throat like fire, but he got them out.  
  
The blond man looked confused for a second, but slowly a maniacal smile crossed his face. "You mean the pregnant broad?" He asked, leaning over him. He was so close that Remy could see his nose hair, and smell the unpleasant scent of stale coffee on his breath. "Oh, don't worry 'bout her. We got big plans for that mutie bitch." He laughed as he watched his prisoner struggle futilely against the straps. "What's the matter, scum?" He taunted. "Don't like me talkin' 'bout your mutie whore, huh?"  
  
For a second, Remy felt the pain that coursed through him cease, and was replaced by blinding fury. "Go fuck yourself, you sadistic bastard," he muttered, ignoring how painful it was to talk. And because he couldn't think of anything else bad enough to call the man, he spat in his eye.  
  
The F.O.H soldier's face turned red with anger, and with his teeth gritted, he raised his fist. Remy closed his eyes, realizing that this guy could kill him if he really wanted to, as he was all but defenseless lying there strapped to a board, but even if he was killed, it would be worth it. No one talked about Stormy like that.  
  
Instead of feeling the sharp sting of the man's fist, however, he heard a swishing sound as the door opened. Although Remy couldn't see who walked in, the voice sounded oddly familiar as it said, "What's the matter, Albers? Is the mutant bothering you?"  
  
The soldier, Albers, apparently, turned to face the man, lowering his hand as he did. "No, sir," he insisted, "I don't let scum like this bother me."  
  
The man snickered loudly. "That's good to hear, Albers. Because I remember giving you strict instructions not to lay a finger on him. Now, did I or didn't I say that?"  
  
Remy watched as Albers lowered his head, although more out of anger than shame. He glanced at him, eyes slivers of hate. "You did, sir." Remy grinned at his rebuke, hoping to further piss him off. However, the second man, obviously in charge, ordered Albers out of the room, and he left without another word being said.  
  
As soon as the door swished shut, the man walked over to where Remy could see him. Unlike Albers, this man wore a suit rather than a uniform, although still in the black and red colors associated with the F.O.H. The expensive black suit and shirt, along with the silk tie the color of blood, made Remy think of his own eyes. He shuddered at the thought that they were the same demonic colors as the ones associated with this vulgar organization.  
  
Besides the suit, the next thing he noticed was the man's slicked-back brown hair, prominent Roman nose, and heavy eyebrows. He looked like a normal, everyday guy, except for his eyes. They were green, but an unusual shade, like a wild animal, and it made him look like a rabid dog. Again, Remy shuddered. For his money, this man, Greydon Creed, was a rabid dog. Creed grinned at him, reveling in his discomfort. "Well, Mr. LeBeau, I want to welcome you to the headquarters of the F.O.H."  
  
Remy winced at the sound of his own name. The thought of Greydon Creed knowing who he was terrified him, but he knew that he had to remain calm. Not only for his own sake, but for Storm's as well. "Why'd you kidnap us, Creed?"  
  
"I prefer to think of it as relocation for the good of humanity."  
  
Remy snorted rudely. "Where's Ororo?"  
  
Creed walked over until he was standing directly over him. "Enough questions from you. Now, you may have noticed the device that is around your neck." He paused, and took a small box out of his pocket, and pressed a button. Remy felt the strap that had been holding his head to the board release. He moved his neck around, but it didn't stop it from hurting any. Creed was right, there was something attached to his neck, and even though he couldn't see it, it felt...familiar.  
  
"This a Genoshan slave collar?" He asked. His mind flashed to the time when he and Storm had been held prisoner on an island called Genosha. The people had used these collars to restrict mutants from using their powers. Remy thought these horrific things had all been destroyed.  
  
"Oh, this is much more then a Genoshan slave collar," Creed replied with an excited look in his eye, "much more. The old slave collars only allowed people to control mutants' powers. But these fascinating devices do much more than that."  
  
Remy watched in horror as Creed pressed a red button, and the collar emitted a low buzzing sound. It started as a burning itch in the back of his throat, and gradually increased in intensity. He squirmed as much as the restraints allowed as what felt like scissors started cutting at his windpipe. He tried to scream, but the pain crept down into his lungs like fire. He began to choke violently as his body screamed for oxygen, but the terrible slashing pain didn't stop. A repulsive taste of blood mixed with bile filled his chest, and his mind started to become immune to anything but the pain. It hurt so much that in fact, his mind couldn't even comprehend the pain. He sensed that blood was streaming out of his nose and mouth, but it was all he could do to keep consciousness. A horrible screeching noise filled the room, and at last Creed let go of the button. All at once, the pain stopped almost as quickly as it had began. The screeching sound stopped as well, and as fresh air filled his lungs and his senses returned to normal, Remy realized that the sound had been his own screaming. He was suddenly drenched with sweat, the front of his clothes now covered with his own blood and even though he couldn't see himself, he could smell its sickening scent. It made his skin cold and clammy, but he never thought he would be so relieved to feel the pain of metal restraints cutting into his skin. The pain from those was nothing compared to what he had just felt.  
  
Creed laughed mercilessly, a horrible, gravelly sound that conveyed how much he reveled in the suffering of others. "And you know what the best part of these things is? They cannot be forcibly removed. The only way to get it off is with this key." He held up a small, silver key just long enough for Remy to get a good look at it. "Do you know what happens if you try to remove the collar without the key? It explodes, taking your head with it."  
  
"If you gonna kill me, Creed," Remy panted, still struggling to breath after that demonstration, "jus' do it. But let 'Roro go."  
  
Creed stopped laughing. "Who says I'm going to kill you? That little demonstration was merely for your benefit. As a matter of fact, if you cooperate, I fully intend to let both you and the woman go."  
  
Remy didn't believe the man for a second, but he had enough sense to know that if he said so, he would only be subjected to more torture. "What you want from me then?"  
  
Creed slipped the device that controlled the collar back into his pocket, and stared at the prisoner with those cold, unfeeling green eyes. "We've been watching you for some time now, Mr. LeBeau. A few months ago, one of my men was killed up in Canada. We know that a mutant did it, and we know you know who he is. We tracked him to Westchester, New York. Strange thing. That's where you live. And you two have been seen together in a bar in Alberta by one of my operatives," he narrowed his eyes contemptuously. "I know you know who this clawed mutie is."  
  
Remy froze. Oh, God. Logan. I shoulda realized it. He said they was after him. Shit, I'm the one that made him come back. What had he gotten them into. "You wrong, Creed, I don't know anyone wit' claws."  
  
"You lie! You've been seen with this clawed freak on more than one occasion. We staged that little rally a month back purely for his benefit, but he did not have courtesy to show up. That made us mad. Your little blond-haired friend received the punishment this clawed-guy should have gotten."  
  
Bobby, he thought. They tried to kill him just because Logan wasn't at the rally? Bastards...Biting back his anger, he said, "What makes you so sure I know so much, hehn?" "Maybe I don't know as much as you think."  
  
Creed snickered. "Oh, I believe you do. And I think you will give me what I need, given the proper persuasion."  
  
"You underestimate me, Creed," Remy muttered.  
  
"I think not," he replied. "After all, it was relatively easy to find you. All we had to do was 'persuade' the local bar owners to talk. However, this other mutant obviously keeps a lower profile then you. So unless you value a painful death, you will tell me all about him."

He does underestimate me. That could work to my advantage. "Sorry, Creed, I'm 'fraid I can't help you."  
  
Creed actually smiled slightly. "Ah, the noble mutant. Loyal in the face of even the most hopeless of situations. I thought you would feel that way. That, of course, is why we have the woman. I figured that you alone would not talk, no matter what I did to you, but I also know that you would give anything to protect her and her unborn child."  
  
Remy grimaced at what he was saying. "Don't hurt her, Creed. She's eight months pregnant, for God's Sakes! Even you must have a little humanity."  
  
"I'll leave you to ponder that for awhile, Mr. LeBeau. I think that often the unknown can be a powerful persuasive element."  
  
Before Remy could say anything, Creed turned and headed for the door.  
  
"Goddamnit, Creed, if you hurt her, I'll make you pay! You'll regret it, I swear to God!" But it was too late, as Creed had already left.  
  
Okay-I know it was really mean to do that to Gambit-forgive me. No flames because he's being tortured! You know there has to be a light at the end of the tunnel.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for all the reviews! If there are any errors in the last chapter (as I have heard there are, spelling and/or grammer wise), then I apologize. Hope you enjoy this smallish update!  
  
Back in Westchester, it appeared that there could be another war on the horizon. Wolverine verses himself. God only knows who would win a battle such as that. He, along, with most of the other X-Men were gathered in the War Room to discuss what should be done. Three of their comrades were noticeably missing, however. One was Iceman, still slowly recovering from his near- death experience, and of course, Storm and Gambit. The tension in the room was so thick that Logan could have sliced at it with his claws. The others sat around the huge conference table, just staring at each other. Wolverine, on the other hand, passed back and forth. He was furious.  
  
"Why them?!" He barked. "They were supposed to be after me, Goddamnit! I killed that flamin' soldier! Why them?!" His words bounced off the steel walls of the room like a beam of light, reflecting off each X-Man. They were all thinking the same thing, although none wanted to say it. He's right. Why them?  
  
Finally, the professor spoke up. "Logan, perhaps you should calm down..."  
  
A growl, and a thrust of adamantium into the six-inch steel wall was the response. Bits of steel and a burst of sparks caused by metal hitting metal showered the man. "I don't wanna calm down, Chuck!" His beady eyes seemed about ready to pop out of their sockets. Every vein in his face was visible, as was ever razor- sharp tooth. These were the times when it was easy to see how some people could have mistaken him for an animal. He could be absolutely terrifying when he wanted to.  
  
But Professor Xavier was not perturbed easily. If you do not calm down, he replied telepathically. I will be forced to incapacitate you with a hypnotic suggestion.  
  
Claws barred towards the man he normally regarded as the biggest single influence in his life, he did something he would normally have never done. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him several inches out of his hover chair. "Try it, bub. You just try it and I'll..."  
  
Most of the others were at their feet by now, pulling Wolverine off of him. It took several of them. Charles dropped back into his chair, unhurt. "Logan!" Jean said, shocked. "I know you're upset, but do you really think that acting this way is going to help Storm and Gambit any?" She went over to where Bishop and Rogue had him restrained. She was the most beautiful woman Logan had ever seen. Long, flowing red hair. Soft emerald green eyes. So strong, yet so delicate...Damn, he loved her. Had for years now. If only the feeling had been mutual. He stopped struggling and relaxed slightly. Bishop and Rogue knew better than to let go, however.  
  
"It shoulda been me, Jeannie," he whispered. She was so near now that he felt surrounded by her scent. Lost in her delicious pheromones...  
  
"I know," she said. "But it wasn't. And you have to accept that. We're going to try and find them. But we need your help. We can't do it without you."  
  
Grinding his teeth, he shook his head. It was almost a defeated move, Jean noted with surprise. This is harder for him then we all realized. "Jesus, Jeannie," He said softly. "If anything happens to Storm and the baby, how can I live with myself?"  
  
She leaned in closer. Logan felt her soft lips as they almost nuzzled his whiskery face. "Nothing is going to happen," she whispered. "We'll find them. Okay?"  
  
If he could have kept her this close forever, he would have disagreed in a heartbeat. But unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. He could almost sense Cyclops nearby, always swooping in to take what he wanted. But this time, he let him. Much as he didn't like, Jean and ol' One-Eye were always going to be together. "Okay," he told her. "Let's do it."  
  
Bobby Drake sat in the wheelchair that he was still basically confined to, staring out the window of the den. He hated being like this; he hated not being able to help. Sometimes he felt like he was more of a burden then a help to his friends. Although he was not particularly close to either Storm, or especially Gambit, he was still very worried. More then anything, he just wanted them to be okay. But he knew that he wasn't a little kid anymore, and that it was stupid to think that everything always turns out okay in the end. This was reality, and just like it said in the movie, Reality Bites.  
  
Behind him, Bobby heard the familiar sound of professor Xavier's hover chair. He didn't say anything as he maneuvered it into the room and stopped right next to his young student.  
  
"Any word?" Bobby asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.  
  
Charles shook his head. "I am afraid not. Everyone is home for the time being at my insistence, so that they can eat and get a few hours sleep. Everyone that is, except Logan."  
  
Bobby grinned. "I heard he almost flattened you in the Danger Room the other day, Prof. Why didn't you fry him for it?"  
  
Charles smiled slightly at his youngest student. "You have a lot to learn about what it takes to be a good leader, Robert."  
  
"And Logan has a lot to learn about what it means to be a teamplayer. I woulda fried him for it," Bobby said, only half- joking. "He sure is persistent, though."  
  
"He won't give up until he finds them. And neither will anyone else, for that matter. Do not worry, Bobby, we will find them."  
  
"It's the Friends of Humanity, Prof, it's gotta be. They shot me, and now they're after Gambit and Storm." He scowled, glaring out the window as if it was somehow its fault. "After what Logan told us, it's gotta be them."  
  
Charles nodded. "Yes, I agree that is the most likely scenario. But they have headquarters all over the country, and unfortunately we do not know where the majority of them are. I have tried to psychically contact them, but have not had any luck. Neither has Cerebro, for that matter. If it is indeed the Friends of Humanity, they are doing an excellent job of shielding them from us."  
  
"I don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "I thought they wanted Logan. He killed that soldier. Why Gambit and Storm? It doesn't make any sense."  
  
All the professor could do was shrug. "I do not know, Bobby. We all assumed they were after Logan. Even _he_ assumed it. In fact, as you have no doubt heard, he is pretty upset that it wasn't him. The only thing we can conjecture is that they are using Remy and Ororo to get to Logan. I pray that is the case."  
  
Bobby's jaw dropped slightly. "You _prey_ that's the case?"  
  
Charles turned to the window, watching the sun as it slowly set behind the clouds. The end of another day. Another unfortunate one, filled with uncertainties and fears. "There could be more to this, Robert," he said, still looking out the window. "The fact that Gambit and Storm were specifically chosen, I feel is significant. I haven't told this to the others because it is only a suspicion. But I have been sensing a growing presence lately. No where specific, but definitely something...evil. I think that the F.O.H. are not the only ones involved in this."  
  
Bobby stared at him, horrified. "And whatever that is wants Gambit and Storm?"  
  
Charles nodded. "Perhaps."  
  
"But what is it?"  
  
"I do not know, Bobby. I can only conjecture at this point. Perhaps I am totally off base. Perhaps it is solely the work of the F.O.H. As I said before, I prey it is."  
  
Bobby nodded and sighed heavily, briefly letting the anger get the better of him. Unfortunately, the professor was rarely totally off base with anything. He slammed his fist hard against the armrest of his chair. "Damn!" He swore. "I should be out there, professor! I hate this! I can't stand just sitting around here doing nothing while everyone is trying to find them!"  
  
"I understand your feelings, Bobby, believe me." Charles said, patting him on the shoulder. "But the best thing you can do is rest and recover. You are an invaluable part of the X-Men and we need you."  
  
Although it was not the first time he had heard the professor reassure him how important he was to the team, it did help to hear it now. "Thanks, professor. I appreciate it. I just..."  
  
Charles nodded, and psychically replied, _I won't allow evil to win here, Robert. The X-Men do not abandon their own, and we will be one again. Trust in that. ---_  
  
I know, I know, it's not much. Any guesses as to who's really behind this? Well, I'll tell you this much. Whoever it is, they're going to play a big part in the series. Well, anyway, please review. They'll be more next time...


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Sorry this took so long. Enjoy!  
Two days staring at the same four walls was making Remy insane, even more so then Creed and his 'treatments', and almost more then not knowing what was happening to Ororo. Creed kept him strapped to that board constantly, and after three days the pain from the slave collar was almost not as bad as the constant cramping in his muscles. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't had hardly a thing to eat in more then two days. He had to start figuring a way out of there, he realized that. It was no good waiting until he made sure Storm was okay. He would just have to hope that if he could somehow escape, he could find her and get them both out.  
  
As he expected, as he had the previous two, Creed appeared in his cell, bright and early, smiling as if the sun would never stop shining again. Any man who so enjoyed torturing others could not be sane, Remy thought, but he was certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was at least a little, afraid of the man.  
  
"Good Morning, LeBeau, and how is my favorite freak of nature today?" Creed said, grinning broadly. He was eating a chocolate doughnut, and held a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand.  
  
Remy stared at the man for a second, ignoring the tempting fruits of Lucifer that he held. "I'm jus' fine, Creed." He tried to sound as cheery as possible.  
  
Creed smirked. "Glad to hear it." He held out the doughnut just in front of Remy's face. "Hungry?"  
  
He turned his head away. "I'd rather eat turpentine."  
  
The head of the F.O.H narrowed his eyes, and stepped away. "You should really learn to get on my better side. It could be hazardous to your health not to be. Just as your refusal to tell me what I want to know will be. I haven't used every measure at my disposal to force you to talk just yet, because I've so enjoyed our little 'sessions', haven't you?"  
  
"Go to Hell," Remy mumbled.  
  
"Now, now. There is no need for such language. As a matter of fact, you should be thanking me. You see, I have a present for you."  
  
"A present?"  
  
Creed smiled evilly. "I've decided that there will be no more games, mutant. But you just remember, LeBeau, I won't feel any guilt over the death of a mutant, even a pregnant one. And don't you forget it. So you better decide who is more important to you. The murdering one you're trying to protect, or the woman and baby."  
  
He was obviously going to do something with Storm. This could be the break he needed, and he was determined not to blow this chance. "I'm not an idiot, Creed," Remy said. "You honestly think I trust that you'll let me and Ro leave if I tell you what you wanna know?"  
  
He may as well been talking to a brick wall. Instead of responding, Creed glared at him for a minute with those inhuman rabid eyes. Remy watched as he walked over to the steel door, and walked out. Before he could even call him back, though, Creed returned, and came back over. "Perhaps you need even more persuasion, Mr. Lebeau. If torture and starvation don't work, I think I know what will."  
  
He didn't like the sound of that. At first, Remy laid back against the hard board, preparing for the worst. If Creed was through torturing him with his little 'happy box' then he could only imagine would he would try next. He would probably try to use Storm to get him to talk, and Remy could simply not allow that. He needed a plan, now. He had to stay focused, and he was certain that sooner or later he would figure a way out of this. He had to. The door to the room swished open, and as he turned on his medieval rack to see what was going on, he was shocked to see an F.O.H. soldier pushed a restraining board identical to his own with Ororo on it.  
  
"Stormy!" Remy yelled, as she was pushed over next to him. "Are you okay?" But as she got closer, it became apparent that she was unconscious. Physically, she looked okay to him, but who knew what the knock-out drugs, not to mention the stress of being restrained to a metal board, could be doing to her and the baby. The next thing he noticed was that she was also wearing a collar like him. He turned back to Creed, trying to disguise the horrid fear in his voice with anger. "You don't honestly intend to use that thing on her, do you?"  
  
Creed slowly walked over, taking the control out of his pocket as he did. "That depends on you," he replied, flipping it from hand to hand. "Are you going to make it necessary for me to?"  
  
He had to lie. What other chose did he really have? I just have to buy some time. Then maybe I can think of a way out of here. "Jus' don't hurt her, Creed. I tell you what you want to know."  
  
Creed smiled victoriously, but just then, the door swooshed open once again, and a different F.O.H. soldier walked in. "Mr. Creed!" He called. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to you, sir."  
  
His leader spun around, furious. "I specifically said that I wasn't to be disturbed!"  
  
The man stepped back nervously. "I am sorry, sir, but it's very important."  
  
Creed sighed, and stomped over. He and the man talked for a minute, and it became obvious that Creed was happy with what he was telling him because he began to smile. He pounded the man on the shoulder, and walked back over to his two prisoners. "Well, it seems I have to leave you for a short time. I am finally going to close a deal with someone that is very interested in something of yours, I think. Enjoy your last hours of guilt free, and pain free existence, Mr. LeBeau."  
  
Fuck you, he thought, but he didn't say anything. Creed gave him another smile as he turned and left the room. Left alone, Remy scanned the strange, sterile room as best he could once again, looking for anything that could be useful. There wasn't much to see. In fact, there didn't appear to be anything in it but a light on the ceiling, and, of course, himself and Storm trapped on these damn boards. He figured there were probably cameras, or at least some sort of listening devices hidden somewhere, but he couldn't detect any visually.  
  
"Remy?"  
  
He turned, surprised to hear his name. "Stormy!" He whispered loudly. "You awake? Are you okay?"  
  
She nodded. "I guess I'm okay. Where are we? Do you have any idea?"  
  
"No. Some kinda F.O.H. compound. I don't have a clue where though."  
  
"Remy," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear, "we've got to get out of here. I've been in a room just like this these last days, but they've kept me sedated for the most part. However, I overheard two guards talking, and I think they plan to take the baby."  
  
He squirmed at the knowledge. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I pretended to be unconscious for long periods of time, when actually the drugs had worn off. That allowed me to overhear certain things. Creed wants the baby, that's why he kidnapped us. I think he plans to sell it to a geneticist."  
  
"A geneticist?" Remy mumbled, frowning. That must be what Creed meant when he said that someone would be very interested in something they had. He must mean the baby. "But why?" He asked. "He told me that he wants information. About some guy with claws whose been up in Canada. Can't imagine who he means."  
  
Ororo caught on that he was saying that for the benefit of anyone listening in. "He probably hopes to get both the baby and the information. But we can't allow it. We have to figure a way out of here."  
  
"I don't know how, chere. Creed might jus' be too smart for us. Maybe we should jus' give 'em what he wants. I mean you could go into labor any time. Then Creed will have the baby, and maybe he'll let us go."  
  
Storm stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious. I would never..." She paused as Remy grinned at her, and winked. "Oh," she said upon realizing what he meant. "You could be right."  
  
Lt. Michael Sanderson was second in command of the entire Friends of Humanity, and Greydon Creed's most trusted advisor. With his dark tanned complexion, shifty gray eyes, and heavily scarred cheek, Mike Sanderson looked like he belonged in an old western as the villain who rides into town and has a showdown at dusk with the sheriff. He was actually an ex-marine; staunch military man, and the closest thing Creed had to a friend. Although Creed was generally respected throughout the organization, he never got close to people. It was just one of the many ways that the two men were alike. Creed walked briskly toward his office, his lieutenant almost running to keep up. He was very eager to get there after hearing the news that the man they'd been dealing with for months now had finally agreed to a price. The money this man would pay for that mutie baby would insure the F.O.H. would be around for a long time, and both men realized it.  
  
"You actually talked to this guy, Sanderson? Face-to-face?" Creed asked the tall, muscular man who towered several inches above him.  
  
"It wasn't face-to-face, Greydon. I talked to him through his number two man, but as far as I could tell he seems legit. He'll pay our amount as long as we deliver the baby...and the rest of what we discussed, of course." Creed nodded and the two walked in silence. He knew what had to be done. And he trusted Mike's judgment.  
  
"Um. . .What do you know about this man, sir?" Sanderson asked, breaking Creed's daydreams of world domination and the total annihilation of mutants world wide, "I mean, why would this geneticist want some freaky mutie baby?"  
  
"That's not my concern, Mike," Creed replied, as they reached his office. "He can do whatever he wants with that little abomination. The only thing I care about is the large amount of money he'll pay for it."  
  
"It just seems odd that this guy is willing to pay so much money for a baby. Especially a mutie one."  
  
Creed shrugged. "I don't know a whole lot about this guy, but what I do know is that he has some kind of connection to that one mutie, LeBeau. Apparently, he was very interested in him biologically, or some such bullshit. He now considers him a threat, and wants him dead. He has his reasons, but I don't care. Like I said, Lt. Sanderson, that's not my concern. As long as he plans to shell out a pretty penny."  
  
Just as they reached the office, Creed stopped, and turned to face his Lieutenant. "Mike, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you. Actually, something I want you to do for me."  
  
Sanderson shrugged. "Anything Greydon, just ask."  
  
Creed looked around, and leaned in. "I don't think this will ever be necessary, but I want you to promise me something."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"If something should happen to me, I want you to promise that you'll take care of my daughter for me," Creed said, resting a hand on the man's shoulder. "With her mother dead, she doesn't have anyone else."  
  
Mike Sanderson was more than a little surprised. He had been married for several years, but he and his wife couldn't have children of their own. It wasn't as if he didn't like them, he loved Greydon's young daughter, and he was even her godfather, but he couldn't imagine raising her. He also couldn't imagine why he was asking him this here and now, but he knew that he could never refuse. He owed everything he was to this man.  
  
"I know it seems strange that I'm asking you like this, but as you well know, this is only the beginning, Mike. There will be a war between humans and mutants." He shrugged. "Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. And we will pay a big part in that. I want to know that if something happens to me, she'll be taken care of."  
  
He owed everything to this man...Sanderson didn't hesitate for a second. "Of course, Greydon. I promise I'll take care of her for you." 


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate everyone reading my fic! Enjoy...  
  
In a little room directly behind the one where Remy and Ororo were being held captive, Sgts. Tom Albers and Martin Fox were on watch detail. Their only job was to keep an eye on the prisoners, and report immediately to their superior, Lt. Sanderson, or Creed himself, if need be, if anything happened. Truthfully, it was very boring.  
  
"C'mon, Marty, are you in or out? You ain't gonna change your hand no matter how long you stare at it."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Marty Fox mumbled. "Okay, I call. Whatya got?" Grinning, Albers slapped down his cards, revealing four jacks. "Damn," Fox swore throwing down his hand of kings and sevens.  
  
"Too bad," the blond haired Albers said, collecting his winnings. Still smiling, he looked up at his dismayed colleague. "Face it, Marty, you ain't lucky. Poker just isn't your thing."  
  
"You may be better at cards, Tommy, but at least I'm not a little runt like you."  
  
Albers and Fox glared at each other, and then busted out laughing. "Asshole," Albers said, still laughing. "You wanna play again?"  
  
Before Fox could reply, however, he glanced at the television monitor that displayed everything going on in the mutants' room. "What in the...?" He mumbled. Poking Albers in the shoulder, he pointed at the screen.  
  
"I know you can hear me!" Remy yelled from where he was restrained. "She's going into labor! Somebody better get the fuck in here, or they're bot' gonna die!"  
  
Albers and Fox glanced at each other, not sure what to do. The mutant woman really did look like she was in a lot of pain. She screamed as if someone was stabbing her with a sharp knife. "Oh, God," she yelled. "The baby's coming! Remy, what do I do? I need a doctor!"  
  
"Just hold on, Stormy," he said, trying to calm her. "It's gonna be okay. I promise." He turned back in the direction of the room. "Unless you want this baby to die, I suggest you get your asses in here!"  
  
Fox rose from his seat, but Albers grabbed his arm. "Wait," he said, gripping it tightly. "It could be a trap."  
  
Fox shook free. "But what if it's not? If that baby dies, Creed'll have our heads, Tom."  
  
Albers frowned. He knew that was true. Creed was going to get a fortune for this kid, and if anything happened to it, well...furious wouldn't begin to describe how upset he would be. "Alright, alright," he said at last. "But watch your back, Marty. These muties are slick."  
  
Fox took out his gun as Albers inserted his I.D. badge into the computerized door. It flashed from red to green as it unlocked, and the heavy metal door swished open.  
  
"Thank God you guys are here!" Remy exclaimed as soon as the two soldiers walked in. "She's not doing too good."  
  
Fox went immediately over to Storm. She was sweating, and panting heavily. He wasn't exactly sure what a woman in labor looked like, but this was pretty much how he would have imagined it. "The baby," Ororo moaned. "You...You're going to have to deliver it."  
  
Fox backed up a step. "I ain't delivering a baby!" He turned to Tom Albers, who was holding his gun near Remy, just in case he tried anything. "You deliver it, Tom."  
  
"Me?" He squeaked. "Hell no! I better go get Creed."  
  
"No!" Storm exclaimed. "There...There's no time. It's coming, now! One of you better get down there and deliver my baby!"  
  
"C'mon, Marty," Albers mumbled. "Just get down there and do it already. If anything happens to that kid, we're gonna be in deep shit. I'll go get help."  
  
Fox grabbed his friend's arm, and pulled him back. "You aren't getting out of it that easily! The only reason you want me to do it is so it'll be my fault if something happens."  
  
"Well, what do I know about babies?"  
  
"At least as much as me." Fox paused, stricken by a momentary flash of genius. "Wait," he turned to Remy, and snatched Albers gun out of his hand. "Why don't we let the mutie do it?"  
  
Albers turned to him as if the man had suddenly gone insane. "Are you crazy? He'll try and escape!"  
  
"Oh, no he won't," Fox protested. "First of all, there's two of us, and one of him, and second, he wouldn't escape and leave his bitch behind."  
  
"Will you please make up your minds?!" Storm screamed. "I don't care who does it, but someone better help me now!"  
  
Albers sighed and frowned. "Okay," he said at last, pulling the key that unlocked the metal restraints out of his pocket. He took his gun back once again, and held it mere inches away from Remy's head. "If you try anything, mutie, I'll kill you first and then the woman."  
  
The restraints unlocked, Remy rushed over to Ororo. "It gonna be alright, chere. I'm here." He turned to Albers. "You gonna have to unlock her, too, homme."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Remy give him a look. "You 'spect me to deliver this baby while she all locked up like that?"  
  
"Okay, okay," Albers mumbled, grabbing the key. He dropped his head and lowered the gun for a mere second, but it was long enough for Remy to make his move and drop kick him square in the jaw. Tom Albers sputtered and immediately hit the ground, writhing in pain. A small pool of blood slowly leaked out of the man's mouth, and he clawed at his face, gagging as he choked on it.  
  
Martin Fox watched his colleague fall, but it happened so quickly that he just stood there in shock. He stepped forward to attack, but it was more out of instinct than actual know-how, and he was no match for Remy. He easily blocked the soldier's weak punch, and grabbing Fox by the wrist, he swept his feet right out from underneath him. The man landed hard on his back, with the familiar 'crack' of bones braking going with him. Remy wasn't sure if his back had broken, but he really didn't care. Wasting no time, he swiped up both men's plasma guns, as well as the key that unlocked the restraints.  
  
Storm, who of course was not in labor, breathed a sigh of relief that Remy was okay. He unlocked her, and she stood up with his help. "Thank the Goddess you're alright. Those men could have killed you."  
  
"Nah," he replied. "Thanks to your excellent acting job, and these two morons, it was in the bag. But we got a harder job now, chere. I gotta get to Creed, and then we gotta a figure a way outta here."  
  
"Why do you have to find Creed? Can't we just try to get out unseen?"  
  
Remy shook his head, "He's got the key to these collars. He said if you try to remove it without the key, it'll explode. 'Course, he could be lying, but that ain't a chance I'm willing to take."  
  
"But how will you get to him without being caught?"  
  
"I'll show you." He grabbed the unconscious body of Martin Fox, and with Ororo watching in awe, he stripped off his uniform, and put it on himself. The uniform's thick black jacket had a high collar, and he buttoned it all the way up, in order to hide his neck as much as possible. Luckily, Martin Fox didn't look all the different from Remy; they were similar in height and build, and hair color for the matter, although Fox's was much shorter. There was even a beat-up pair of sunglasses in the man's shirt pocket to cover his eyes, which would obviously give him away. The last thing he put on was the F.O.H. cap, and he tucked his hair up in it the best he could. "Well," he said, grinning, "how do I look?"  
  
Storm frowned. "Remy, I don't know if this will work. Why don't we just try to escape together now? Maybe Hank can figure out a way to get these things off without the key."  
  
Remy dragged the unconscious body of Martin Fox over next to one of the metal tables and handcuffed him through one of the metal straps, and then to the writhing body of Tom Albers. "But what if he can't Stormy? Face it, I don't have a choice. I have to get that key."  
  
"You'll never make it, asshole," Albers mumbled, still clutching at his face. "They'll catch you and kill you both, your freak baby, too."  
  
"Shuttup, fool," Remy replied. Taking out his stolen gun, he pistol whipped the man straight across the head. Albers squealed, but fell silent. "Tol' ya you were gonna regret that big mouth of yours, homme."  
  
Storm grabbed her friend's arm. "Please, Remy, there has to be another way. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you."  
  
"And I'll never forgive _myself_ if I can't you outta here safely, _without_ that collar, chere." He handed her one of the plasma guns. "Here, take this. If those two wake up, or if anyone comes in that door, shoot 'em."  
  
Her hand was noticeably shaking as she took the weapon. Remy could not remember a time when he had seen her so scared. She had always been the rock, the one that remained calm and rational even in the most desperate of circumstances. He took her other hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "I promise, Stormy. It gonna be okay. We gonna get outta here. I ain't gonna let you down."  
  
She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Just promise me you'll be careful," she whispered in his ear. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."  
  
He smiled and patted her cheek. "Gambit don't get caught, chere, or killed. I be back."  
  
Straightening his sunglasses, he inserted the stolen key card in the slot, and the door opened. Stepping out into the hallway, he let all traces of nervousness and worrying leave his mind. If he was going to do this, he would have to be at the top of his game. He had to get into his familiar thief's mindset, and concentrate on the mission at hand, and nothing else.  
  
The hall of the F.O.H. compound looked curiously similar to the room where he and Ororo had been held prisoner. The walls were painted hospital white, the floors plain linoleum, and the doors heavy steel. The first thing he noticed was that all the rooms and doors looked the same. Besides all of them being made of pressurized steel, they all had the same key card locks, but no numbers or identifying marks of any kind. Remy briefly wondered, as he walked slowly down the hall, how these people could tell the rooms apart.  
  
He walked as quietly, but yet as naturally as he could manage, trying to just take in the layout of the building, and figure out in his mind where the most likely place for Creed's office as well as the exits to be. The next thing he noticed after the identical doors was that there was no one around. It was fairly obvious that this compound was big, and must have a lot of F.O.H. soldiers in it, yet he hadn't seen anyone. Something must be going on.  
  
Out of curiosity more than anything else, he tried his stolen keycard in a random door, just to see what would happen. Just in case, he stayed out of sight as the door hissed open, but as he peaked around the corner, gun out and ready, he could plainly see that there was no one there. In fact, this room was a carbon copy of the one he'd been kept in, even down to the restraint board. It was the same in the next three rooms he tried.  
  
_Come out, come out, wherever you are_, Remy thought, frowning. This had to be one of the strangest places he'd ever been in, and he had definitely been in some unusual places. What kind of headquarters for a huge organization like the Friends of Humanity would be completely empty? _Maybe I oughta try the next floor_...  
  
As he was looking for a way up, however, he heard someone calling him. Not him exactly, but Martin Fox.  
  
"Hey, Fox, is that you?" Someone shouted from behind him. Remy froze, but remained calm and natural. Slowly, he turned around, casually making sure that his hat and sunglasses were still in place. A short, heavyset man about the same age as he, was walking briskly toward him. He had a tanned complexion with dark, closely set eyes, but he looked perfectly common. Remy could tell from the insignia on his uniform that he was the same rank as Martin Fox, which was lucky. A superior officer would most likely know he wasn't who he was pretending to be. He managed a small grin, hoping this guy didn't look too close at him. Catching up to him, the man offered a hand. "Hey, you're Marty Fox, aren't you? I've been looking for you everywhere."  
  
Remy took his hand, and shook it. "Well, you found me," he said, doing his best to imitate the real Fox's voice, and to lose all traces of his own accent. "And you are?"  
  
"Jeff O'Connell," he replied. "Uh...if you don't mind me asking, what's with the sunglasses?"  
  
Remy, keeping in character, grinned. "Got in a fight last night with my girlfriend. She tried to claw my eye out, the bitch. Anyway, s'a little sensitive to light today, and the glasses help."  
  
"Damn," O'Connell whistled. "You'll have to tell me 'bout that sometime, man. But anyway, Lt. Sanderson sent me to get you so that you could go to the meeting in Albany. I thought you had watch duty with Tom Albers? I was on my way there to get you."  
  
Remy thought fast, and spoke just as fast. He knew if he hesitated to long the guy would get suspicious. "Yeah, I did have duty. But apparently Sanderson wants me at this thing in Albany, so he called me on the com link and told me to get my ass over there. I don't know why he sent you." Of course, Remy hadn't a clue as to what meeting was going on in Albany or where he was supposed to report, or even who this Sanderson guy was, but he hoped that wouldn't matter. It did, he thought, possibly explain why there were so few people around if they were all at this meeting thing.  
  
O'Connell shrugged. "Huh," he said, shrugging. "Who the Hell knows with Sanderson? The man's the reincarnation of Satan himself most of the time, as I'm sure you know. Anyway, it don't really matter, I guess. I found you anyway. Let's head over to the briefing room."  
  
Remy followed the man to the end of the hall, where he preceded to slide his access card into a slot. He watched as the door opened, but instead of walking into a room, he was surprised to see that there was another hallway behind it. This one looked a little different, though, as these doors had numbers, and in some cases, words on them, such as 'Artillery,' and 'War Room.'  
  
"So, what do you think about those muties Creed's got stashed here? The whole thing's messed up to me."  
  
Remy wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. _This place_ was messed up to him. "Yeah?" He asked. "Why?"  
  
O'Connell shrugged. "It's not our style to hold these freaks here for days at a time. I know he wants the baby to sell to that scientist-or-doctor guy, whatever the Hell he is, but I mean...why doesn't he just cut it out, or something? Who cares if the bitch bleeds to death?" He laughed out loud. "It's not as if he's gonna keep'er around after she has the kid anyway."  
  
God, but it took every restraint Remy had, and some he didn't know he had, not to break this guy's neck after hearing that. But he was used to hearing things he didn't like, and used to acting like what people said didn't bother him. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He replied, with a little snort of disgust. "But I guess Creed has his reasons."  
  
The man nodded. "Who knows? So, Marty, you ever been on one of these mutie hunting trips before? It's my first one."  
  
Remy frowned. What was he talking about? "Mutie hunting trips?"  
  
"Yeah, you know, the 'meeting' in Albany. We're going to hunt down some more muties. The more we get rid of the better."  
  
"Oh, yeah," Remy said. "Well, I guess it's my first trip, too."  
  
"Uh-huh," O'Connell mumbled, but Remy could see that he was a little suspicious. He could have kicked himself for not pretending that he knew what the guy was talking about. But it was too late now for regrets. "Anyway, should be a lotta fun," he continued. "Especially because Statler's leading us instead of Sanderson. Hey, you and Barry Statler are pretty good friends aren't you? Must be relieved that he's going 'stead of that dick Sanderson."  
  
"You can say that again, man," Remy said, nodding.

"I thought you'd agree," O'Connell muttered. Suddenly, out of no where it seemed, he grabbed Remy and shoved him against a door so hard he had the wind knocked out of him. Pinned between the soldier and the door, he found himself face- to-face with the man's plasma gun.

"What gives, man?" Remy gasped as soon as he could breath again. "What the Hell are you doing?"  
  
Jeff O'Connell replied by cocking the gun. "Don't gimme that bullshit. You're not Marty Fox. Who the fuck are you?"  
  
Remy squirmed. He knew he could easily break out of this guy's weak hold on him, but he had to be careful not to get himself shot. To by himself some time, he played innocent. As he carefully slipped his hand into his pants pocket, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm Martin Fox. Have you lost your mind?"  
  
O'Connell pressed the weapon a little tighter to his temple. "I've never met Martin Fox before, so I'll admit just by looking at you, I would have never guessed that you were anyone else. But anyone who had been here longer than a few months would know that Lt. Barry Statler was killed up in Canada by some mutie. So, I ask you again. Either tell me who you are, or I blow your fuckin' brains out!"  
  
Remy could see how mad the guy was, and that actually pleased him. But more importantly, he could see how nervous he was. That gave him the upper hand. So instead of pleading for his life, he smiled at Sgt. O'Connell. "The name's Gambit, homme, and I think that all you need to know." With that said, he shoved Fox's keycard into the slot, and the door he was trapped against swished open. Exactly as he expected, Remy fell backward, taking O'Connell with him. "What the...?" He yelled at the sudden move, and hit the ground hard. Remy took advantage of the situation, and swiped up the man's gun. O'Connell lunged at him, but he was a second to late. Remy rolled out of the way, and at the same time, whacked the soldier hard on the head with the butt of the pistol. Jeff O'Connell was immediately knocked unconscious, and he lay motionless slumped on the cold linoleum floor.  
  
Remy immediately crawled over to the door, swiping his card to close it. Leaning against it, he took a few seconds to catch his breath. He wasn't sure what would have happened if the card had not opened the door, but thankfully he didn't have to worry about it. He saw that he was in some sort of storage closet. He wasn't sure if places like this had janitors, but with the buckets, mops, and cleaning chemicals, it looked as if someone did the cleaning. His head throbbed were he'd been slammed into the door, but the pain could hardly be considered more than a scratch after what he'd been subjected to the last 48 hours.  
  
Making his way to his feet, Remy grabbed Jeff O'Connell's keycard and gun, and handcuffed the unconscious man to a pipe on a sink against the wall. Standing over him, he smirked. "Guess you won't be forgettin' the name Gambit, hehn? Maybe I oughta cut you open and let you bleed to death, like you wanted to do to Stormy." He settled for kicking Jeff O'Connell in the groin as hard as he could. It was not really satisfying, but he knew that he had to get going. Leaving the storage closet, he stashed O'Connell's gun and keycard in the first empty room he came to.  
  
Remy continued through this hidden wing of the building, occasionally passing a soldier or two, but no one paid any attention to him. They all seemed to have places to go and things to do as they rushed by. The building, however, proved the real challenge for him. Because everything looked the same, he kept getting lost. No matter what direction he went, he kept ending up back in the middle of nowhere.  
  
Finally, he stopped by a door that said 'Auditorium.' He found, however, that Martin Fox's keycard wouldn't open the door. "Damnit," he swore, slamming his fist against it in frustration. How the Hell was he supposed to get to Creed and then back to Ororo and out of there? He couldn't even find his way around. But suddenly out of no where, all the answers to his problems appeared before him.  
  
"Hey, what do you think you're doing there?"  
  
Remy spun around to see a young Hispanic-looking man standing behind him. Although when he got a better look at him, he realized that he was hardly more than a boy, rather than a man. From his rank insignia, Remy saw that he was only a private. Realizing that this kid might be able to help him, he played it cool.  
  
"I was looking for you, private. Mr. Creed sent me to get you, and tell you that he wants you to go to the meeting in Albany."  
  
The boy stepped back in surprise. Remy glanced at his keycard that was dangling from a belt loop. The writing on them was inordinately small, but because he had excellent eyesight, he was able to make out the name 'Christopher Vasquez' on it.  
  
"Mr. Creed wants _me_ to go to Albany?" His voice was sort of squeaky as he stared at Remy in surprise.  
  
"You're Private Christopher Vasquez, aren't you?" Remy asked. The boy nodded. "Then you're the one he wants."  
  
"I can't believe it," Vasquez said. "I never would have imagined he would let me go to a meeting after only a few months."  
  
"Well, believe it. First, though, he wants to see you. Let's go."  
  
Private Vasquez nodded enthusiastically, and headed down the opposite way Remy had gone. He didn't seem to wonder why Creed hadn't simply called on his com link to tell him to come, or for that matter, why Remy was wearing sunglasses inside as well as well as why his collar was buttoned all the way up. "I'm sorry I questioned what you were doing by the auditorium, sir. I've only been with the cause for a few months, and I really want to prove myself."  
  
"No problem," Remy replied. "Good to see that you're alert and taking the job seriously. I have to say, though, you are the youngest soldier I've seen around here."  
  
The boy frowned, but nodded. "Yes, sir. I just turned eighteen. I guess that's why I have to prove myself capable even more than the older guys. If you don't mind me asking, sir, how long have you been here?"  
  
"Well, I've been here longer then I care to think about." Remy said, smiling at the fact that that was all too true. "And you don't have to call me 'sir.' I'm Marty Fox."  
  
Shaking his hand, the boy said, "Christopher Vasquez, as you already know, but call me Chris." The two continued walking until they reached a door near the end of the hall marked 'Information Systems.' Chris inserted his card into it, and Remy discovered that it was actually an elevator. This place hadn't ceased to amaze him yet. The two stepped in, and Vasquez pressed the button for the third floor. "This is so exciting. I've wanted to go mutie hunting...I mean to a meeting...since the day I got here, Sgt. Fox."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you have. Just call me Marty, though, Chris." God, but it infuriated him at what a place like this could do to an impressionable kid like him. It was all the more reason for him to succeed so something like that wouldn't happen to he and Ororo's baby.  
  
Stepping off the elevator, Chris asked, "Why do you think Mr. Creed wants to see me before the mission, Marty?"  
  
Remy shrugged, not bothering to think up a good lie. "Let's go find out."  
  
The third floor of the compound had significantly more people around then the last one. Remy swallowed nervously, and avoided eye contact with anyone. He followed Private Vasquez, staying half a step behind him, but the boy didn't notice. He stopped after going past only a few doors, in front of one that was clearly marked 'Private.' Luckily, there were no guards outside. He began to feel a little more confident. This was the tough part, but he was too close to give up now. He took a deep breath, and said a silent prayer that he would be in there. Everything depended on it. Knocking on the door, he said, "Mr. Creed? Can we see you for a minute?"  
  
There was a short pause, and then a rough reply. "Who is it?"  
  
"Sgt. Fox and Pt. Vasquez, sir."  
  
"Very well. Come in." The door opened automatically, obviously Creed controlled who came and went from inside, and Remy and Chris Vasquez entered the office. Remy took a split second to take in the particulars of the room, as it could be important. Greydon Creed didn't even look up from the desk he sat at when they walked in, which gave him the time to do it. There wasn't much else in the room, he was sort of surprised to see, but that, too was good.  
  
"Well, what is it?" Creed mumbled impatiently, scribbling furiously at something on his desk.  
  
_This is it_, Remy thought. _It's now or never, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna fail Ororo like I did Bobby_. Without wasting a second, he reached out and slammed his fist into the button that closed the door from the inside. With that damn collar he didn't have his mutant abilities of superhuman reflexes or accuracy, but there was nothing mutant about all the years he spent training first as a thief and then as an X-Man for situations like this.  
  
The sound of the door hissing shut caused Creed to look up in surprise, but as he did, Remy already had the stolen plasma gun aimed squarely at his head. "Don't even think 'bout it," Remy said. "Get your hands up where I can see 'em, Creed."  
  
Creed sat dumbfounded for a second, but the realization of what was going on must have hit him because he did what he was told. Greydon Creed was not the bravest of people. "How the Hell did you escape? What did you do to Albers and Fox?"  
  
Remy didn't answer, but kept one eye on him as he swiped young Chris Vaquez's gun, and held it against his head. "You, down on the ground, hands in the air." Chris swallowed nervously, and Remy could see how much his knees were shaking. He felt a little sorry for the kid, who probably had no idea what was going on. Remy kept the gun just inches away from his head until he was laying face down on Creed's floor. "What's going on?" The boy sputtered from the ground. "Who are you?"  
  
Ignoring the questions, he turned back to Creed. "You know what I want, Creed," he said. "Give it to me."  
  
"You'll never get away," Creed replied instead. "My men will hunt you both down and slaughter you like animals."  
  
Remy grabbed him by the shirt collar and cocked the pistol, an angry glare in his eye as he did. "I don't _think_ so. _Now, gimme the fuckin' key, Creed_!" He could feel a slight burning in his hands, ever so faintly tinged with a pinkish glow. It had been years since his emotions had dictated his powers. With the collar on, however, a faint glow was all he was going to get. Remy couldn't remember feeling this angry in quite awhile.  
  
Creed knew that the man would and could kill him if he decided to, and part of him considered not giving in just for the Hell of it. If he was going to die, then he should go down swinging. But his cowardly side told him that he still might have a chance of escaping this with his life, and that won out. "It's in my left pants pocket," he mumbled.  
  
Remy didn't waste a second getting it, and unlocking the increasingly uncomfortable collar. He rubbed his neck a few times, but even with it off, it still hurt like Hell. Slipping the key in his pocket he said, "Alright, gimme the box, too." Creed silently handed over the device that he had used to torture Remy with for the last several days. Immediately, his pulse slowed and he felt more himself.  
  
Once he had the device that controlled the collars, Remy seriously considered strapping it on Creed, and torturing him until Creed went insane from the pain. But in the end, he decided not to. He refused to sink to this man's level. Still, he knew the best way to keep Creed from ever using the contraption again. He snapped the collar in place around the man's neck, and just to satisfy his vengeful side, switched it on.  
  
Creed swallowed nervously, but made no moves to stop him. "Are you going to kill me, LeBeau?"  
  
Remy glared at him with all the hatred and disgust he could convey. "I haven't decided yet."  
  
Glancing at the young Vasquez laying on the ground, he saw that the boy was watching him. He kept a straight face, bravely eying the man contemptuously, but Remy could see right through the false bravado. The kid was scared shitless, and he couldn't blame him. But because of all the pain he'd been put through, both physically and mentally in the last several days, Remy knew he couldn't stand anymore unless he was absolutely forced to.  
  
"What are you waiting for, mutie?" Creed asked. "Come on, kill me. You know you want to. Do it, and my men will hunt you down until they kill you, and your bitch, and your bastard child."  
  
Surprisingly, his words didn't even bother him much. What did he care what this man, no, this thing said about he and Storm and their baby? Slipping the small box into his own pocket, he said, "No, Creed, I ain't gonna kill you. Although believe me, you deserve to die. And I'll tell you something, I've killed people that didn't deserve to die nearly as much as you. But that would be letting you off too easy." Grabbing him by the arm, with the gun still pressed to his temple, Remy roughly shoved the man toward the closet on the opposite side of the room. "In there, and sit down."  
  
Creed did as he was directed, and Remy took his handcuffs, and, looping them through a thick metal heating vent, left Creed stuck there in the closet. "What, are you just going to leave me here like this?" Creed asked, thrashing against the cuffs.  
  
Remy went over to the man's desk, and rutted through it until he found what he was looking for. "Damn right I'm gonna leave you there. Would you rather I stuck you on hard board and strapped you down so tight that you could hardly breathe?"  
  
At first, Creed didn't reply, but as Remy held up the roll of duct tape, Creed began to sputter. "You'll never make it out of here, freak. And when my men drag you back here, I will personally make you wish you'd never considered trying to escape. You'll be begging me to kill you, LeBeau! You'll..."  
  
"Shut the fuck up, asshole." Remy silenced him by taping his mouth shut. "You talk too much." He grabbed Chris Vasquez by his wrists and, pulling him to his feet, used his own handcuffs on him. "I'll see you 'round, Creed," he said, flashing him a grin, and slamming the closet door shut.  
  
"What are you gonna do with me?" Vasquez asked, struggling against the much bigger man. "Are you gonna kill me?"  
  
Remy pulled him by the cuffs backward, knocking him off balance. "Not if you do exactly what I tell you, and stop squirming. Now, start walking." He directed the boy through the door, firing the gun at the control panel as he did, watching as blue sparks flew from it. They were one step closer to making it home.  
  
Now, no flames for not having Remy kill Creed...I have something better in mind for him...


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry this took so long to update, I've been unbelievingly busy. Thanks for all the great reviews last chapter, and please enjoy!  
  
The door to the room hissed open, and Remy pushed Chris Vasquez through it. Storm had the gun up and leveled at the two before Remy could even shout a warning. Luckily, she saw who it was before she fired.  
  
"Jesus, Stormy, you 'bout gave me a heart attack!" He said, checking all around to make sure no one was waiting in the shadows, trying to set a trap. Everything looked exactly the same, though. Albers and Fox were both still cuffed to the table, unconscious, and Ororo nervously lowered the gun.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I am just a little bit on edge. I've been worried sick." She threw her arms around him as if she they had been separated for a lot longer than a few hours. "Who is this?" She asked, looking at Vasquez.  
  
Remy dug the key out of his pocket and helped her out of the collar. "This is Chris Vasquez. He's gonna help us get outta here. Chris, this is Ororo."  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Vasquez." Storm said, with her eyebrows raised.  
  
"Screw you both. I'm not helping you go anywhere."  
  
Remy yanked on his cuffs again, jostling him backward. 'Watch your mouth, boy. And yes, you are gonna help us get outta here, or you're gonna end up with a crater in the back of your head. Get me?"  
  
Chris reluctantly nodded, although Remy wasn't the least bit sure whether he believed him or not. After all, he had spared Creed's life, so why should the boy think that he would kill him? It was a chance he just had to take. "Come on," he said, motioning to the door. "We best get outta here 'fore anyone notices that we're gone."  
  
The corridor outside was still empty, as Remy was almost sure it would be, due to the fact that most of the troops were gone to that Albany thing. He still wasn't taking chances, however. "Alright, Vasquez. Move it toward the nearest exit. And make it look good and natural."  
  
He and Storm followed closely behind the boy, close enough so that Remy could grab him if he tried anything. He wasn't very surprised that he didn't, as a highly powerful plasma gun can be very convincing, and soon all three were safely outside. Safety, though, was still miles off, and neither had the faintest idea what to do now that they had escaped the compound. Safety didn't exist out here. That was home, back on Greymalkin Drive. And still another task lay before them. Getting off the grounds unseen.  
  
The first thing Remy noticed when they left the compound was that it was freezing outside. An icy gust of March wind blasted them the second they stepped outside, stinging their eyes and lungs. _Damn, but it's cold here_, and he didn't even have any idea where 'here' was. There were some clues, though. Always aware of his environment, he noticed that the F.O.H had built their headquarters right in the middle of a thick forest, probably to shield it from the outside world. They were literally surrounded by huge evergreen trees that stretched as far as he could see, and rose high into the overcast gray sky. They were probably not in New York anymore. Maybe northeast.  
  
The second thing he noticed were the two guards, armed with high powered rifles talking next to what he figured was the front of this huge, but well hidden place. How where they going to get past them unnoticed? He glanced at Storm, a questioning look in his eyes. She knew immediately what he was thinking.  
  
"There has to be another way," she whispered.  
  
"Yeah, what?"  
  
"There is no need for further violence, my friend. I will handle the guards. You and young Mr. Vasquez go around to the back and make sure we cannot be spotted when we head into the woods."  
  
Remy nodded, and motioned Chris toward the other side of the building with his gun. "What's she gonna do?" He asked.  
  
Remy couldn't help but smile. "You'll see."  
  
He stealthily made his way through the thick underbrush of pine, gun cocked, prepared to use it if he had to. He wished he had his overcoat because he hated being without his playing cards, his favorite weapon. Of course, there were plenty of rocks, sticks and other things to charge that would work just as well, but he had gotten used to the easy, lightweight cards.  
  
The other side of the complex was full of people, all wearing the now familiar F.O.H. uniform. It seemed as if they were gathered there for something, but Remy didn't have time to wonder why. He couldn't possibly take out all of these guys, so it was better to remain hidden. They would just have to be extra careful to not be seen as they left the grounds. "Don't even _think_ 'bout yellin', homme," he whispered to Vasquez. "I guarantee you'll regret it if you do."  
  
Chris glared at him, his dark brown eyes full of contempt. He bit his lip, considering whether he should or not. "Why shouldn't I? I mean, if you're gonna kill me anyway, why shouldn't I at least try to escape?'  
  
"Who said I was gonna kill you?"  
  
Chris shrugged, and squirmed as the handcuffs dug into his wrists. "C'mon you're a mutant. You're all bloodthirsty murderers."  
  
Remy cocked an eyebrow. He could say something about the fact that he had been the one that had been kidnapped, tortured, starved, and probably would have been killed, not to mention that they would have done the same to a pregnant woman and a baby, simply because they were mutants, and this kid had the nerve to say that mutants were bloodthirsty? But what was the point in trying to explain it to this messed-up boy? "Yeah, whatever you say, kid."  
  
As they headed back to the other side of the compound, Remy glanced up at the sky, and saw that it was becoming a curious shade of dark gray. The winds began to pick up even more, and soon huge snowflakes began to fall. Interestingly enough, as the snow increased, it was centered directly over the building and the guards.  
  
"Arctic blizzard, I summon you to blind our enemies so that we may escape from this prison!" The snow and winds heeded Ororo's commands and as Remy and Chris made it back to her, the F.O.H. headquarters was already in the mist of being covered by several feet of snow and ice. Remy kept one hand on Vasquez' arm so that he couldn't run off, but stared into the immense frozen wasteland that his best friend had created. He could no longer see the guards, or much of anything for that matter. Chris gawked at the massive snowfall in awe, wondering how it was possible that there could be a raging storm mere feet away, but not touch them.  
  
"There's a whole shitload of guards 'round back, Ro. We best be headin' south through the woods. Don't think we can be seen thanks to the change in weather."  
  
The three of them headed that way, through the dense thicket of pine, the blizzard behind them gradually lessoning as they went. Chris kept glancing at Ororo, and Remy briefly wondered if it was because he was amazed by what she did, or afraid. It seemed funny that someone could be afraid of Storm, although he could understand why. Maybe it was just that he had known her so long that he knew she would never hurt anyone unless she had no other choice. "How did you do that?" Chris finally asked her.  
  
"She's a weather witch," Remy spoke up before she could answer. He grinned at her.  
  
"A _what_?"  
  
"I have the mutant ability to control and manipulate the weather," Storm explained. "Although he is right, I have been known as a weather witch."  
  
"That was probably the freakiest thing I've ever seen. No wonder Mr. Creed kidnapped you." He turned to Remy with a sneer on his face. "So what are you? A fire goblin?"  
  
Ororo tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out anyway. Remy narrowed his eyes, not finding it particularly funny. He pulled off his sunglasses, and glared at the boy. Chris took one look at his black and red eyes, and gasped. "What's wrong with your eyes?"  
  
"I'm Satan."  
  
Storm hit him on the shoulder. "Don't listen to him. His eyes are merely a genetic defect caused by his mutancy."  
  
Chris frowned, and pulled hard away from Remy. If he hadn't been paying attention, he probably would have broken free. "Genetic defect my ass, man. You look like some sort of devil or demon."  
  
Demon. That word brought back plenty of memories for him. Remy remembered all the times he had been called 'demon boy' or had been teased and beat up because he had 'demon eyes.' In the largely Catholic New Orleans that he had grown up in, having black and red eyes didn't mean that you were just born with a genetic defect that caused you to be a mutant, it meant that you were unholy, spawn of the Devil or something like that. He could still remember how much it hurt. He eventually learned how to defend himself and fight back the ones that wanted to beat him, but it was the ones that taunted him that really bothered him. He started to believe that maybe he really was unholy. Maybe he really was the spawn of Satan.  
  
Storm took his free hand and squeezed it understandingly. "Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Vasquez. Just because some mutants may look different, does not mean that we should be feared or hated."  
  
Vasquez snorted, and kicked at the ground. "Yeah, sure, lady. Tell that to..." He stopped and drifted off. "Never mind."  
  
Remy and Ororo glanced at each other curiously, wondering what he meant to say. He shrugged, and glanced behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. They were now out of sight of the F.O.H complex, but Remy knew it was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were gone, and went after them. "Alright," he said. "I think we safe for the time being." Just up ahead, he noticed a small stream set apart from the trees. He pointed his gun in that direction. "Let's go up there and rest for a minute. We gotta decide what we gonna do."  
  
When they reached it, Storm immediately sat down on a large flat rock. Closing her eyes, she grasped her stomach and grimaced. Remy directed Chris to sit on the ground. "Don't you even think 'bout movin'," he ordered, sitting down next to her. "You okay, chere?"  
  
Ororo nodded slowly. "I will be alright. It's just the stress I've been put under. We have more important things to worry about, such as how do we get home?"  
  
Remy shook his head. "I dunno. The com link in my watch's been fried by all those 'sessions' with Creed. There's no way to get in contact with the team."  
  
"Perhaps now that we are free of the compound, the Professor can find us on Cerebro."  
  
"Maybe..." Remy replied, but he sure felt that it was a huge maybe. "But it's been 2 and a half days since we were kidnapped. You'd think if they were gonna find us, they woulda done it by now." He had the distinct feeling that something...or someone had been shielding them from even Xavier's powerful mind. It was a feeling that he hadn't felt in years...not since he was back in New Orleans...back with... "Well, I sure hope that the others are still looking for us. But I'm not about to just sit around and wait to get picked up. By either side. I think the best thing is to keep moving." He stood up and looked all around, in a 360 degree circle. All he could see were trees and more trees. Somewhere, way off in the distance, he saw what looked like rocky cliffs or crags, but that was it. "Could be miles to the nearest town, though." Turning to Vasquez, he asked, "I need to know where we are, and where the nearest town is."  
  
"Disneyworld," Chris said. "And this is the happy forest. Tomorrow land is just up ahead."  
  
Remy sighed. Damn, but he was tired of all the bullshit. He was tired of the goddamn Friends of Humanity, and he was especially tired of this mouthy little bastard. He grabbed the boy by his jacket and slammed him against the nearest tree. "You know what, homme?" He growled. "I'm getting real sick of all this. I'm getting sick of you." He bent down and picked up a large rock which immediately began to glow with kinetic energy. Vasquez looked at it and his eyes went wide, but Remy wasn't through. "In the last nearly three days, I been kidnapped, tortured, starved, and almost killed God only knows how many times. Now, you see this rock?" Chris swallowed and nodded nervously. "If I let go of it, it's gonna 'splode, and you ain't gonna like that. So I suggest you tell me what I wanna hear, _n'est pas_?"  
  
"Remy," Ororo said, making her way over to him. "He is just a boy. You needn't scare him anymore than he already is."  
  
"Don't gimme that, Ro. He old 'nough to wear that uniform, he old 'nough to be treated like a man." Turning back to Vasquez, he pushed him harder against the tree. He could almost smell the fear on him, but he didn't care. "What's it gonna be, kid?"  
  
"Maine," he finally gasped. "We're in Maine, okay?"  
  
Remy let go, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Cringing, he grabbed at his neck, and gave Remy a look that clearly said he wouldn't mind seeing him torn to little pieces. "What part of Maine?" Remy asked, ignoring the look.  
  
Chris shrugged. "I dunno."  
  
"Whatdya mean you don't know? You begging for it, boy, you know that?"  
  
"I really don't know!" Chris protested. "When we're taken on by the F.O.H. as new recruits, they fly us in blindfolded in the dead of night, and we're not allowed to leave the grounds of the compound for an entire year!"  
  
Ororo frowned. "Why would they do that?"  
  
"Because we have to prove our loyalty to Creed and the organization. If we let just anyone join, we could get spies or mutie lovers that wanna sabotage us. But not many people are willing to give up a year of their lives to join us unless they're dedicated to the cause. The only thing they would tell us was that we were in the northeast. Someone leaked to me that we where in Maine. But that's all I know, I swear!"  
  
Remy snorted and threw the rock he still held in his hand as far as he could, in the direction of the water, where it exploded upon hitting it. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. You believe that Stormy?"  
  
"I would certainly not put it past the F.O.H to use such measures with their own members. Yes, I think he is telling the truth."  
  
Although he wasn't sure, he gave the kid the benefit of the doubt. Actually, he gave Storm the benefit of the doubt. He trusted her judgment. Glancing at the sky, Remy noticed that it was turning pinkish purple. The sun was setting. They had maybe an hour of daylight left, and the last thing he wanted was to be surprised by an entire troop of F.O.H soldiers. They had to make some miles before dark. After explaining the situation to Ororo, he asked, "You gonna be alright to keep going? You don't look that great."  
  
"Thank you, my friend. That is exactly what I wanted to hear."  
  
"That ain't what I meant."  
  
Storm smiled. "I will be fine. But what about you? You do not look particularly great yourself."  
  
Remy shrugged. "I'll be okay. Although I feel a lot better when we're safe at home, and I stuffing myself wit' some of Jean's cooking."  
  
As the sky grew darker, Remy and Ororo grew increasingly worried. They hadn't come across anywhere that would be safe to stay for the night, nor had they seen signs of a town, a house, a road, or even a sign. The temperature had dropped even more, and although he wouldn't admit it, Remy was freezing. He knew Storm must be, too, because both of them were from hot places and weren't particularly fond of the cold. Vasquez didn't complain about being cold or tired, but he had developed an annoying habit of dragging behind. Remy had to prod him along with the butt of his gun more than once, and he was getting fed up.  
  
"Damnit, boy, you don't start movin' your ass, I'm gonna knock you out and carry you. And trust me, that won't be a pleasant experience."  
  
"I am moving," he protested. "You're going too fast."  
  
"Quit whinin' and start walkin'."  
  
Just up ahead, Ororo had sat down to rest for a second. She was having terrible stomach cramps, but she didn't want to give her friend anything else to worry about, so she didn't tell him. She was hungry, thirsty, cold, and especially tired, but at least they were safe. She tried to take comfort it that, but it was hard. Why did this have to happen? It was the same question she had wondered repeatedly seven months ago, when she had first learned that she was pregnant. Right now, though, she was far more afraid than she had been then. She was more afraid now then she had been in a long, long time. She wanted to cry, but feared she didn't have the strength. A hand rested on her shoulder, causing her to look up.  
  
"What's wrong, chere?" Remy asked, sitting down next to her.  
  
She shook her head. How could she possibly explain? "I'm so scared, Remy. We're lost out here in the middle of nowhere, no one knows where we are, and we have no way of getting home. Not to mention any minute we could be overtaken by the F.O.H., who want to sell my baby to a madman, and kill the both of us. That's what's wrong."  
  
"Hey," Remy said gently. "It's gonna be alright. You can't give up now. I know you're scared. I am too. But you and me been through all kinds of things together, and we're still here. We gonna make it, Stormy. I promise. Okay?"  
  
She looked into his eyes in the growing dark. They glowed red, like two ruby beacons in the night. He looked so innocent right then. Not a usual look. Cocky...playful...occasionally immature...those were all common, but not innocence. The one thing that she would always have in common with Remy was their lost innocence. Stolen at such young ages as they both grew up on the streets. Sometimes it was hard for Ororo to remember that they were both still so young. They had their entire lives ahead of them. That was the only thing that kept her sane and willing to keep going right then. That and the wholly innocent, strong hand of the man she cared for more than any other. "Okay," she whispered. "I believe in you. Or us, rather."  
  
Remy kissed her cheek with a wide grin before pushing Chris forward slightly. "Come on, let's go."  
  
"I have to go to the bathroom." He said.  
  
Remy rolled his eyes. That was the oldest trick in the book. "Hold it."  
  
"I can't. Come on, man. I really do have to go."  
  
Remy was about to tell him that he didn't give a shit, and that he could piss his pants for all he cared, but Ro gave him a sympathetic look. "Remy, don't be cruel. We can spare a few seconds."  
  
"Alright, alright," he grumbled, unlocking the boy's handcuffs. "But I hope you ain't shy, 'cause I'm standin' right next to you to make sure you don't try anything."  
  
Chris let him lead him over to a bush. "You worry too much man."  
  
"Yeah, whatever, just hurry it up, huh?"  
  
Instead, Chris, paused, and stared at him. "C'mon, I can't go if you're staring at me. Can't you at least turn around?'  
  
Remy sighed deeply, trying to hold on to any remaining patience that he may have. But he complied, and turned around. "Make it fast."  
  
"I will, _jeez_."  
  
Somewhere off in the distance, while he waited, Remy thought he heard a noise. It sounded like a branch braking. Shaking his head, he figured it was his imagination. But then he heard it again. Snap, crunch. He held his breath, and started to reach for his gun. No use taking chances. But before he could, he saw what had caused it. A squirrel came racing down from a tree, and took off into the darkness. Smiling, he breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he was about to turn around and ask Vasquez if he were done yet, he felt a sharp pain in his knee. Yelling, he dropped forward, but turned just in time to see Chris swipe the gun from his holster. The kid had kicked him one good, and Remy knew that he deserved the throbbing pain. He should have never fallen for such an obvious trick.  
  
"Get up," the kid ordered, pointing the gun at Remy's head. "Now, real slow."  
  
He complied, slowly making his way to his feet, despite the pain in his leg. He directed him back over to Storm, who gasped when she realized what had happened. "Please, Chris," she said. "You don't want to kill us. It would be advisable for you to put down the weapon."  
  
"Screw you, lady," he said, cocking it. "I put up with him telling me what to do all day. You kidnapped me and held me hostage, not to mention you hurt a lot of my friends. I will kill you if I have to."  
  
Remy and Ororo exchanged glances. They knew each other well enough that they didn't need words to communicate. Remy kept his hands up, but stepped forward. He knew this could end to his advantage. This kid didn't want to shoot them anymore then he wanted to keep him here held hostage. "You right, homme," he told the terrified soldier. "You right 'bout everything. I deserve to be shot after what I did."  
  
Chris lowered the gun slightly. "What?" He asked, confused.  
  
Remy stepped closer. "I did kidnap you, and beat the shit outta a whole bunch of your friends back there. Hell, I didn't want to. Maybe I shoulda just trusted that Creed woulda let me and Ro go. Maybe I shoulda just accepted the fact that I'm a mutant, and that I deserved to be tortured."  
  
"Shut up!" Chris ordered. "I'm not an idiot, alright? Just stay there and shut up!"  
  
Remy stopped, but wasn't about to shut up. "No, homme, I'm serious. Creed didn't get to kill me back there, but you can. He thinks me and Ro are nothin' but freaks of nature, abominations. He think it okay to torture people, kidnap pregnant women, and sell innocent babies to doctors to experiment on. Now, that ain't what I believe. Stormy and I, 'specially me, ain't perfect, but if you believe we deserve to die, then pull that trigger."  
  
Chris' hand shook slightly. He looked from him to Storm and back again. "If I don't kill you, you'll be just like all the other mutants. You'll kill more innocent people."  
  
Storm stepped forward next to Remy. Her voice was calm despite the situation. "Mr. Vasquez, I understand that you fear us. It is hard not to be at least a little afraid of a man who can make things explode, and a woman who can control the weather. But you are mistaken. The vast majority of mutants simply want to live their lives in peace. We don't want to control you, or kill you, we want to live in peace with you."  
  
Chris snorted. "Yeah, sure, lady. I do watch the news, you know."  
  
"It is not fair to judge a people by what a few extremists may have done. I can assure you that all I want is to do is raise my baby, and live my life surrounded by my friends. Remy and I simply want to live without having to worry about being mistreated simply because we are different. Wouldn't you, child?"  
  
For several seconds, Chris didn't respond. He seemed to be thinking heavily about it, but wasn't sure what to do. Slowly, he lowered the gun, and dropped his head. Remy quickly snatched it from him, but Chris didn't even try to stop him. Suddenly, voices could be heard nearby. Branches snapped, and flashlights shone against the dark of the trees. It was the F.O.H. and they weren't even trying to disguise the fact that they were coming.  
  
Remy grabbed Ororo by the arm. "We gotta get out of here, quick!"  
  
"But to where? There's no where to go!"  
  
Chris suddenly seemed to come out of his trance. "I know where we can go. Come on."  
  
Remy grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in mid-stride. "Whoa, hold up! You think I'm gonna let you lead us right until the middle of that damn army?"  
  
Chris shook his head. "I'm not gonna do that, and you don't have much of a choice but to believe me. You either trust me, or you're gonna get caught."  
  
"Why you so bound and determined to help us all of a sudden?"  
  
He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I shouldn't. But I'm offering it none the less. Now, what's it gonna be?"  
  
The voices grew closer. "Hey, is that someone up there?" Someone said. "I don't know," came the reply. "You wanna check it out?"  
  
"I do not think we have a choice, my friend," Storm said. "We must leave right now."  
  
Remy nodded, "Okay, kid. You win. Lead on."  
  
"This way," Vasquez said. "Hurry. I don't think it's too far from here." He took off in the opposite direction with Remy and Ororo close behind so they wouldn't lose him in the dark. Remy kept glancing over his shoulder, but gradually the voices grew more distant. The three ran for a distance, and soon he realized that Chris was headed in the direction of those cliffs he had noticed earlier. He hadn't even realized that they were so near. He hoped he wasn't making another mistake trusting this kid.  
  
Okay, that was pretty long, hope that makes up for not updating... 


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy! Sorry this took so long. Blame fan-fiction. I couldn't log in for two days...  
  
Lt. Mike Sanderson watched as his sergeant ran to report to him, almost breathless by the time he reached him.  
  
"Sir," he said, panting heavily. "They were here. And left very recently from what we can tell."  
  
"Excellent," Sanderson replied. "Gather the men around."  
  
He looked out over at about twenty of his most trusted officers as they grouped together in front of him. They had been feeling discouraged, and Sanderson knew that many of them had been ready to give up. They had been anxious, ready for revenge for what these two mistakes of nature had done to three of their own. Tom Albers and Jeff O'Connell would fully recover, with time, but Martin Fox had a cracked vertebrae and there was word that he may never walk again.  
  
But Lt. Michael Sanderson had an even more personal reason for catching these two. His boss, his close confidant, and his friend, Greydon Creed was missing. When Sanderson had realized that the two mutants had escaped, the first thing he had done was go to Creed. But he had soon realized that he was gone as well. Sanderson wasn't sure what had happened to the man, but his first thought was that he had been kidnapped. And if that was the case, then there was a good chance that Greydon Creed was dead.  
  
As Mike Sanderson stared out at the faces of his men, he remembered the promise that he had made to him. He had sworn that if anything happened to Creed, he would take in his young daughter. Never had he imagined that he may have to abide by that promise so soon.  
  
"Men," Sanderson began. "We have word that the enemy was here not too long ago. We will not rest until we find them, and have revenge for what these two freaks of nature did to our comrades and friends. We will not fail! Are you with me?"  
  
A loud cheer burst from the men, who raised their guns in the air like wild hunters on the trail of some viscous animal. Sanderson barked out orders, separating them, directing who was to go where. If there was only one thing he knew, it was that he would not rest until he had these muties in his gun's sight. They would not get away with what they had done.  
  
As Remy and Ororo followed Chris Vasquez to what they hoped would be a safe place to hide, they soon noticed that the woods were gradually thinning the further east they went. Soon, the soft ground that had been covered with pine needles was replaced by one that grew increasingly rocky.  
  
"Where we going?" Remy called to Chris.  
  
Chris yelled over his shoulder, his voice hard to hear by the wind that had started to pick up, "It's just up here. I may need your help to get in it."  
  
"Get in it?" Remy asked, but the howling of the wind prevented Vasquez from hearing. The F.O.H soldier was already climbing up a large bolder, to where he could see several old dilapidated trees growing in the cracks. Wherever they were headed, it seemed to be right behind them. Chris turned to help Ororo up the rocks, with Remy covering the rear, carefully making sure that they weren't being followed. As soon as all three were safely up, Vasquez pointed to a hole in a rock that the trees carefully hidden. "Help me move this," he directed Remy. The two men shoved the rock aside several feet, and it finally dawned on Remy what it was. It was a very obscure entrance to a cave. "We can't go in there," he protested. "Ro won't never make it." Storm suffered from claustrophobia, and small, dark places could reduce her to a panic attack.  
  
"No, it's alright. I will be fine," she insisted. "There is no where else to go. It's just so dark..."  
  
"Come on, follow me," Vasquez said as he made his way into the dark rock. "It's actually a lot bigger than it looks."  
  
Remy bent down a grabbed a stick, charging it with kinetic energy. "You sure you be okay, Stormy?"  
  
"I will if you stop calling me that, _Gambit_."  
  
He grinned, and held the glowing stick in the entrance of the cave. It worked well as a torch, and everything was soon illuminated with bright pink light. The ceiling was rather low, and Remy could just stand erect without hitting his head on it, but the walls, which started out narrow, gradually got wider and wider the further back you went. Chris was right, it was bigger than it looked. It actually looked less like a cave, and more like a huge hole that had been dug right into the cliffs. Their voices echoed more the further they went, and it got gradually darker, although the glowing stick helped a lot. Finally, Chris stopped them.  
  
"We don't want to go any farther back then this," he said, his voice echoing as Remy's 'torch' let up a large circular cavern. "This is the most open area, and it's easy to get lost from here." He indicated to the two tunnels on the right wall, each leading in a different direction.  
  
"How big is this thing?" Remy asked Chris, looking down each of the tunnels. "This the biggest cave I ever seen."  
  
Chris shrugged. "I dunno. Pretty big, I guess. I'm actually not sure if it's not man-made. But as far as I know, no one knows about it but me."  
  
"I thought you had said you were not allowed off the grounds of the F.O.H. compound for an entire year," Storm noted.  
  
"Well...okay, so I lied a little. I found this place a few months ago, when we were doing survival training. They sent us out in the woods, and we were told that we had to 'survive' out here for 24 hours, without getting caught by the other team, whose job was to track us down." He paused and grinned at the memory. "I was the only one on my team not to get caught. No one in the organization must know this place is here."  
  
"Well, it is lucky for us that you discovered it," Storm said. "We are grateful for your help, Chris."  
  
Vasquez didn't reply, but he did look a little embarrassed. Or maybe he looked nervous. He wasn't sure if he should be helping them or not. If Creed or anyone in the F.O.H found out, he would be ostracized, or worse. But it was pretty much too late for regrets now.  
  
Remy broke the awkward silence. "Well, if we gonna stay here for the night, we gonna need a fire. It's freezin' in here."  
  
"But what if someone sees the smoke?" Chris asked.  
  
Remy shrugged, not worried. "If we keep it small, and back here, we be fine. C'mon, homme, let's go find some wood."  
  
The two of them didn't venture far from the cave, just in case, but as it turned out, they didn't have to. The ground was covered in old, dead wood from the ancient trees that grew around it. Remy never went more then a few feet from Chris, either. He wasn't taking any chances that this was some sort of trap. Experience had taught him to never let your guard down for a second. Soon, they were both back inside with a nice warm fire blazing away.  
  
Remy sat, leaning against the cave wall, fiddling with the com link in his watch. He figured it was probably useless to try and fix it, but he wanted to make sure just the same. If he could get it working, it would be a snap for one of the others to figure out where he and Storm where. Ororo sat next to him, quietly staring into the flames, and occasionally adding more wood to it. Chris was across from them both, absent mindedly doodling in the dust with a stick, and every now and then casting Remy angry looks. Vasquez had no idea if he even noticed, but not only did he, but Remy was started to become annoyed by them.  
  
"What?" He asked, exasperated.  
  
Chris didn't even pretend not to understand. He chucked the stick into the fire, and said, "You still don't trust me, do you?"  
  
Remy paused and cocked an eyebrow. "Why you ask?"  
  
"Come on, man. You were practically glued to my hip when we went to get the wood. You think I'm gonna take off into the woods and yell to the whole world that you're in here, or what?"  
  
Remy set down his com link, and leaned forward. The fire felt excellent, and he was warm for the first time in several days. He and Ororo were safe for the time being, and they had escaped reasonably unharmed, and the baby was safe as well. He knew that this kid was partly responsible for this, but still, he didn't regret at all what he was about to say.  
  
"I'm sorry, homme, but there only two people on this planet that I completely and totally trust. One of 'em's me, and the other is sittin' next to me."  
  
Chris looked from Remy to Ororo, and shook his head. "Whatever, man."  
  
"Please try and understand, Chris," Storm broke in. "It is not as if he distrusts you. Remy is a very cautious person. I suppose I am as well. As mutants, we have to be. You have seen what happens first hand if we are not."  
  
Vasquez turned away, feeling slightly guilty, as if he were personally responsible for what had happened. For several minutes, no one spoke, and the only sound was the crackling of the fire, and the distant sound of trees rustling in the wind outside. "Why aren't you guys married?" Chris suddenly asked.  
  
Remy and Ororo glanced at each other. How do you answer a question like that? "Damn, that sure came outta left field, kid," Remy replied. "Why you think we not?"  
  
"You're not wearing wedding rings," he pointed out.  
  
"Ah...maybe we lost them."  
  
Chris snorted. "Yeah, right. If you don't wanna tell me, then just say so."  
  
"No, it's alright," Storm said. "I will tell you why we are not married. It is simply because Remy has never asked me to marry him."  
  
Chris laughed, and shook his head. Remy grinned. "Hey, I'm workin' on it. Haven't found the right ring yet."  
  
"And now, Mr. Vasquez," Ororo said, "If you don't mind, I have a question for you." The boy shrugged, and chucked some more sticks in the fire. "How did an intelligent and compassionate young man like yourself come to work for the Friends of Humanity?"  
  
Chris felt his jaw slacken. He wasn't sure if it was because of the question or because a mutant had called him 'kind or compassionate.' "Why do you want to know?"  
  
"Because it bothers me to know that someone so young could already feel so much contempt for mankind that he would feel compelled to join such an appalling organization as the Friends of Humanity."  
  
Obviously, that was not the right thing to say. Chris jumped to his feet, eyes blazing. "That's not true! The F.O.H. is not an appalling organization! Don't think that just because I helped the two of you that I don't still hate muties! You Goddamn people are dangerous! Don't you realize that? You think you can control the Goddamn world! You don't care who you hurt along the way!" Vasquez suddenly stopped his yelling when he realized that both Remy and Ororo were staring at him in amazement. Chris turned away from them, and plopped back down to the ground, fighting back tears. He wished he could disappear from the face of the planet right then.  
  
Ororo understood now. A mutant must have done something to this boy to make him hate and fear them so much. "You dislike mutants because one had hurt you, child, am I right?" Chris nodded without looking at her. "Who?" She asked. When he didn't reply, she added, "It may help to talk about it."  
  
Chris sniffed, wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve. His wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it, but still he replied, "My brother."  
  
"Your brother?" Remy chimed in. "You have a brother that's a mutant?" Chris nodded rather distantly as if he didn't really want to admit it.  
  
"Perhaps you had better start at the beginning," Ororo advised.  
  
"It's a long story," he mumbled.  
  
Remy and Ororo gave each other an understanding look. They both knew what it was like to be hurt by someone you loved. "We ain't going no where, homme. Take your time."  
  
For a few minutes, Chris didn't speak. He scratched at the dirt floor with a stick, thinking. Did he really hate mutants? He wasn't sure. Finally, he said, "My mom was killed in a car wreck when I was only two. I don't even remember her. My dad freaked out, and ditched us. That's how it all started. Me and my older brother were raised by my sister."  
  
He paused and turned back around to face them. "My sister, Aquiel, was like a mother to me. She was only seventeen when my dad left, but she dropped out of school and worked three jobs to take care of me and my brother. She wouldn't let us go into foster care, and we didn't have anyone to help. At least, anyone that would help."  
  
"Your sister sounds like an incredible person. You must love her very much," Ororo said.  
  
Chris nodded tentatively. "She was, and I did. I loved Victor[1], my brother, too. He was five years older then me, and I looked up to him. I wanted to be just like him. But then something happened."  
  
"What?" Remy asked.  
  
"It was around his fourteenth birthday. He began to...change. We didn't notice it at first, but he began to be able to control electricity. It was the most incredible thing I ever saw, at least until I met the two of you. Victor could literally suck up power from a socket or a power pole and direct it back at whatever he wanted. Well, at first I thought it was kinda cool. But I slowly changed my mind. It began to take control of Vic's mind. He thought he was God, or something. Just because he could control electricity. He turned...bad. And he began to resent me and my sister because he thought we were holding him back, or something like that."  
  
"What did your brother do?" Storm asked quietly. She was pretty sure she already knew the answer, but she had to know for sure.  
  
Chris looked down at his hands, his chin trembling. When he spoke, his voice shook terribly. "He...killed Aquiel," he said. "Victor killed my sister. For no reason other then she got in his way one day. He electrocuted my sister! My own brother! And after all she did for him!" Tears began to pour down, and Chris buried his face in his lap and cried. He hated thinking about the day he found his sister's lifeless body. He hated remembering how much it hurt. He had only been eleven years old, and his whole world was shattered that day. _Damn you, Victor! Damn you for taking her away from me!_ "And damn you for making me relive it!" He screamed at Ororo and Remy.  
  
"Huh?" Remy asked, eying Storm. Where had that come from?  
  
She hushed him with a look, and then holding her bulging stomach, moved to sit next to the boy. "We are sorry, child, if we caused you anguish. But you know, you will not heal from this unless you talk about it. It is not wise to keep your feelings bottled up." She reached out and patted his shoulder. He flinched at first, but didn't move away. "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. But you see why I'm not too crazy about mutants now?"  
  
"Just 'cause your brother was a power hungry freak, boy," Remy said, "don't mean that all mutants are like that. Think about if all non-mutants were compared to Hitler or Charles Manson or something."  
  
"That is true," Ororo agreed. "We are both sorry about what happened to your sister, but it is not fair to judge a group of people by what one has done."  
  
Chris looked up, and dried his eyes. "I can't believe I'm such a crybaby."  
  
"There is no shame in crying, child."  
  
He nodded. "You guys are right. I guess I don't really hate all mutants. I was just so angry at my brother that I blamed every mutant for what he did. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for what the F.O.H did to you."  
  
"You didn't have nothing to do with that, mon ami. Don't blame yourself," Remy said. "Hell, me and Stormy owe you our lives."  
  
Chris smiled. "No problem." He stifled a yawn. "Man, what a day. You guys can tell your kid about this one day, and we'll call it even. Just don't forget about that hottie that saved your butts when you do."  
  
Remy and Ororo laughed, and for awhile no one spoke. All three of them laid down around the fire and watched the embers slowly burn. Chris was soon asleep, exhausted as much from the talk as the rest of the day. Remy poked a few more sticks into the flames, and listened as they crackled and popped. "You know what, chere?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I think the F.O.H have one less soldier." He pointed to Chris's jacket, where for the first time Ororo noticed that the insignia had been ripped off it. She smiled. "If that is the case, my friend, then it was worth everything we had to go through."  
  
"Yeah, I guess. 'Night, chere."  
  
"Good night, Remy."  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach, head, and almost everywhere else. The first thing he was going to do when he got home was have Jean cook him a big steak, or maybe some of her famous pot roast. Damn, he was hungry. "Stormy? I mean, 'Roro?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You know what you told the kid 'bout why we ain't married?"  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"You're a good liar." He grinned, and again closed his eyes.  
  
"Remy?"  
  
"Hmm?" He mumbled, already half-asleep.  
  
"Never mind." Storm said, but inwardly she knew what she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to say it. _Who said I was lying?_  
  
March 7  
  
Remy awoke slowly the next morning with a terrible shooting pain in his back and neck, adding those body parts to the numerous others that already hurt on him. After spending three days strapped to a board, he thought even sleeping on the ground would be like Heaven, but he guessed he was wrong. l never take my bed for granted again.  
  
The fire had died down during the night and was now reduced to just smoky ash. The cave, however, was much warmer than it had been last night, and he was no hurry to get up and start it again. Sunlight peaked in through the crack where they had hidden the entrance. Obviously, they had done a pretty good job. No one had found them in the night. Remy wondered what time it was, and knew that he should get up, and that they should get moving. Instead, he groaned and turned over. It couldn't be too late, and he was still too tired to get up yet.  
  
Just as he was about to drift back off to sleep, he heard a moan. At first, he thought it must be his imagination, but then he heard it again, and felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.  
  
"Remy," Ororo said. "Remy, wake up."  
  
He groaned, and struggled to open an eye. "What? Something wrong?"  
  
"Yes," she replied, more assertively than he could ever remember her being.  
  
He immediately forced himself to wake up, and sprang to his feet, grabbing his gun that he had kept next to him the entire night. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you hear something?" He pointed the gun in the direction of the cave's opening, waiting to pounce on anyone that appeared.  
  
"No," Storm replied. "That's not it. I think...I think I'm in labor."  
  
Remy stared at her, sure that he hadn't heard that quite right. "You're...you're what?"  
  
"I'm in labor."  
  
His jaw literally dropped open. He stared at his best friend as if she had suddenly morphed into a frog. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right. She couldn't be in labor. She couldn't have the baby here in this cave. Things like this only happen in movies, or really bad novels, not real life. "Chere, you can't be in labor," Remy asserted. "You're only eight months pregnant!"  
  
Storm cringed. "Tell that to him...or her. I'm afraid that I am definitely in labor. I have been since yesterday."  
  
"Yesterday! Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Because I wasn't sure. I thought that maybe I was just having some cramps that were caused by stress. But now it is more serious than that. My water broke."  
  
Now it was Remy's turn to cringe. "Oh, shit." He grabbed his com link that he had unsuccessfully tried to get to work. "Hey!" He yelled into it. "Can anyone hear me?" The only reply he got, however, was more static. "Anyone? Professor, damnit, someone answer me!"  
  
All the noise woke up Chris. He sat up wearily. "What's going on?" he asked.  
  
Storm leaned back and sucked in a noisy breath as she worked through another contraction. "I'm having a baby. That's what's going on."  
  
Chris's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. 'Whoa," he exclaimed. "Not good. You need a doctor."  
  
Storm actually smiled. "I don't believe doctor's make house calls to mutants hiding out in caves."  
  
"What are we gonna do?" Chris asked Remy.  
  
Remy responded by letting out a growl and chucking his com link against the wall. "I don't have the slightest clue, homme."  
  
As Remy's com link hit the wall, however, something strange happened. Something miraculous perhaps. It beeped, and turned on. -----------------------

[1] I should mention here that I wrote this story before I ever saw an episode of 'Mutant X' and the character of Victor, who bares a strange resemblance to Victor Webster's character on the show is totally a coincidence, even the name. I would change it, but I have already used him in other stories as is. Just thought I'd mention it.


	19. Chapter 19

  
Logan stumbled into Cerebro with one hand against the wall, trying to keep his balance. What day was this again? Had they had really been gone three days? He ran his fingers over his chin, just to be pricked by untamed stubble. Yeah, it had been three days. Three days since he had slept. Three days since he had barely even caught sight of the school. At first, Xavier had merely suggested that he might want to come home, start over with a good meal and a few hours sleep. When that didn't work, he resorted to threats.  
  
"Okay, I'm here...what?" He yelled at the suited man in front of him.  
  
Xavier sighed and removed his helmet connection to the super- computer before turning to give his former student a reproachful look. "Logan, I understand that you feel responsible for this. But in case you have forgotten, you are human like the rest of us. You need sleep and food...and a shower. I dare say that if you came up across a team of FOH soldiers you might fall asleep before you could fight them."  
  
Logan snorted and tried to stand a little straighter. "Don't bet on it." He _was_ tired. But damned if he was going to admit it. In the past 72 hours, he had been to every known FOH headquarters and meeting place, 'interrogated' every supporter he could find, followed every cold lead, and had practically driven the rims of his bike, stopping only for gas. And he had done it all on adrenaline. But so far he had turned up nothing. Not even a Cajun cigarette butt, nor an unnecessary cloud in the sky. Wherever the FOH had them hiding, it was somewhere not many people knew of, and damn if it wasn't pissing Logan off.  
  
Truthfully, although he would never admit it, he was scared. Scared that if he didn't find them, two people, two of his friends and teammates, two people he cared about, would be dead. And a third that he had never even met. A third that could possibly be his only biological child.  
  
"If you're done lecturin' me, dad, then I've got things to do." He turned, stifling a yawn, to go.  
  
"Logan, you are not going anywhere." Charles starred hardly more than a second, and froze the man instantly. "I have the entire team out, with the exception of Hank and Bobby, looking for them. I have notified X-Factor, as well as all of our other allies to aid us in the search. I even have Betsy's brother, Captain Britain, and his team using their connections, just in case they are overseas. We will find them, my friend. But you will do yourself, nor anyone else, any good as you are. If you do not agree to take a few hours off, then I will be forced to incapacitate you."  
  
Logan snarled, struggling slightly in his nearly suspended animation to protest. But he knew the man was right. If half the flamin' country was looking for them, then surely they could find two people. The icy blue eyes met his mentor's darker ones, and Xavier released his hold on the man. "Alright, Chuck. You win. I'll stay here and monitor Cerebro for awhile. But if we ain't heard from them by tonight, I'm going back out. Get me?"  
  
Xavier nodded, and spun his chair around to leave. "Thank you, Logan. Although I doubt you will have much luck. Someone has been blocking my power of contacting them telepathically. Unless they are dead, I should be able to speak to them telepathically anywhere on the planet."  
  
Logan froze and felt a shudder race down his spine. "Are they dead, then?"  
  
"No...they are not. I am certain of it. It is...a presence is all I can describe it as. Someone we have faced before. But different. I cannot explain it any better. Perhaps it is I who needs some sleep. When I am rested and at my strongest, maybe I can break through this...whatever it is."  
  
"Yeah," Logan said. "Get some sleep, Chuck. I got everything under control."  
  
"We are going to have a talk about how you addressing me some time, Wolverine." Xavier told him as his hoverchair slowly made its way toward the master suite.  
  
Logan grinned watching him, before sealing off the door and plopping down in one of the leather chairs facing the computer. After making sure all possible channels, however distant and unlikely were on and active, he laid his head against the cold metal, and tried to block out all the lingering doubts. He had hardly sat five minutes before he saw a flashing light, indicating someone was trying to contact them via their communicator.  
  
He sighed, and swore under his breath that if it was Cyclops calling him to bitch about something, he was going to knock the man's skull in. Part of him thought to just ignore it, but just in case it really was something important, he stabbed blindly at the control, not turning his attention away from resting his heavy eyelids. "Yeah, what?" he grumbled.  
  
His usual surly attitude was rewarded with a high pitched squealing sound, followed by a loud blast of static. Logan cringed and covered his ears with his hands. Never had having a super-sense of hearing been so damn painful. It felt like his ear drums had exploded.  
  
In a second, the static was gone, and Logan stared blankly at Cerebro trying to figure out what had just happened. He wasn't sure he wanted to activate it again, especially if it was going to result in more ear-piercing noise. Hesitantly, he touched the button again, and said, "Hey, is anybody there?" The reply was sort of muffled, but with his hearing, he thought he might have recognized it. "Cajun?" he said skeptically. "Is that you?"  
  
"Logan?" Came the reply. It was Gambit. Even though unlike the others, he hadn't really thought anything had happened to the man, Logan was still a little surprised to hear his voice. It was like hearing a ghost from the very recent past.  
  
"Where are you? Is Ro with you? Are you guys okay?" Logan knew that he was asking too many questions, but he wanted answers.  
  
"We're fine," Remy said, followed by another burst of static. "But we have a little...uh...situation here. Get Hank for me, now."  
  
Logan frowned. "Why? What's goin' on, kid?"  
  
"Jesus, Logan, just do it, now!"  
  
As much as he hated taking orders, he knew enough to know when someone wasn't fooling around. He could take it out on him later for ordering him around. "Alright, just chill out, Gumbo, I'm getting' 'em."  
  
Meanwhile  
  
Remy was not known for losing his head, or freaking out, but right at the moment, he was as close as he had ever been before. Sitting there in that cave, while Storm tried to breath through the pain, he had never felt so...helpless. He liked to have control of the situation. Hell, even in the F.O.H compound, being strapped to a metal board while pain coursed through his entire body at the hands of a madman it felt like he had more control of the situation then now. He could not, and especially did not, want to deliver this baby.  
  
"Remy," Storm panted, "I hate to ruin your...moment of zen, shall we say, but as much as you don't want to admit it, you are going to have to deliver the baby."  
  
That was exactly what he did not want to hear. "You just hang on, chere," he replied. The cavalry's on the way."  
  
"And what if they don't get here in time?"  
  
"I don't wanna think 'bout that."  
  
Finally, after what seemed like hours, (although it was actually a few minutes), Remy's com link flashed. "Thank God," he said, jumping to his feet. "Hank? You there?"  
  
"Yes, I am here," Hank's amicable voice came. "Logan told me that you have, what he referred to as a 'situation' there. May I ask what the problem is?"  
  
Storm let out a scream. "Hank, I am having the baby! That's what the situation is! I need you, right now!"  
  
"Oh, dear," Hank said. "A most unfortunate turn of events."  
  
"Yeah, no shit, bete."  
  
Logan broke in, "We're already in the Blackbird, Ro. Just hang on, darlin'. Me and fuzzball are comin' to get ya. Havin' a little trouble locatin' yer signal, though. Where the hell are you? A hole?"  
  
Storm screamed again, before he could answer. "Remy! Quit avoiding me, and get over here! You're delivering this baby whether you like it or not!"  
  
He swallowed nervously. "Merde. Hank, help." He whined.  
  
"Logan and I are on the way, my friend. Do not worry. In the mean time, in case I do not get there in time, perhaps you should see to Ororo."  
  
"But..." he protested.  
  
"It's alright," Hank assured him. "Delivering a baby is not as hard as you think. I will walk you through it."  
  
Remy squatted in front of his friend, and cringed. "I can't do this, bete. What if I screw up? What if I break something?"  
  
"Break something?" Hank asked, confused. Shaking his head, he replied, "Remy, I'm afraid you really do not have a choice here. Now, get down there and tell me how far apart the contractions are."  
  
"How would I know? I ain't looked down there, and I ain't got nothing to measure with."  
  
Chris laughed. "You dumbass! A contraction isn't a body part, it's the muscle contractions during labor that make the baby come out."  
  
"Remy, is someone else there with you?" Hank asked upon hearing the other voice.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "Kinda a long story. Chris Vasquez, meet the voice of Hank McCoy."  
  
"Yeah, okay, well, if you're a doctor, I've been timing the contractions," Chris continued, not really knowing who he was talking to. "They're about three minutes apart."  
  
Remy stared at him blankly. "How do you know 'bout things like that?"  
  
He shrugged. "My sister, Aquiel, went into labor on the way to the hospital when she had my niece, and I was with her. Luckily, someone stopped to help us."  
  
"Ah, well, then," Hank broke in. "You, Mr. Vasquez, can act as Ororo's coach."  
  
"Hank," Remy moaned. "I can't do this. I don't know nothin' 'bout delivering a baby!"  
  
"Calm down," Hank said. "I am a doctor, and your friend, and I am quite familiar with Ororo's condition. I will assist you. All you need do is follow my instructions exactly. Now, I need to know how many centimeters she is dilated."  
  
"You mean I have to..."  
  
"Yes," Hank replied firmly.  
  
"Oh, Hell."  
  
Logan guided the Blackbird steadily through the sky, just above radar detection. The jet was equipped with stealth capabilities, but it wasn't necessary for him to activate them yet. Unfortunately, even with its incredible tracking capabilities, he was having a hard time finding them. Gambit's com link signal kept fading in and out, so Logan figured that it must be damaged. Hank was in the back of the plane, pacing back and forth nervously giving directions to the Cajun and some kid named Chris. He had to laugh at the fact that Gumbo was so freaked out about delivering the kid. He had seen the man single handedly battle a whole score of Sentenels, and what finally takes him down? A baby!  
  
"Unless these instruments are totally screwed up 'cause of Gumbo's signal, I got our E.T.A. at thirty minutes, Hank." He called to the back of the plane.  
  
Hank sighed dramatically. "That will be too late. I am afraid, Remy, that you will indeed have to deliver the baby."  
  
"Great," Chris mumbled sarcastically, "that's just peachy. Why don't you just take a few years getting here and we can have the kid potty trained?"  
  
"Hey," Logan said. "If you think it's so damn easy to find three people across thousands of miles of open wilderness then next time you can fly the plane, kid."  
  
"Yeah, sorry." He mumbled.  
  
"How are you doing, Ororo?" Hank asked.  
  
"Well...I think...I've been better," she said panting. "I need to push."  
  
"No," Hank said. "Not yet."  
  
"Mon Dieu," Remy said. "I think I see the head!"  
  
Now it was Hank's turn to cringe. "Oh, dear. I did not anticipate that so soon. I take it back, my dear. You may indeed push. Now, Remy, I need you to apply gentle pressure to the baby's head so that it does not pop out suddenly."  
  
"Pop out! You mean like explode?"  
  
"No!" Hank said, and sighed deeply. If only everyone had as much common sense as he. "Just push very gently against the head, and help to ease it out. Don't pull, though."  
  
"Okay, okay, I got it," Remy mumbled. "Eew. This is gross. I had no idea that having a baby was so messy."  
  
"I will gladly change places with you if you want, Gambit!" Ororo growled up at him. "You have the easy part, you know!"  
  
"You are doing well, my dear," Hank said. "It won't be too much longer now. Mr. Vasquez, as the coach, it is your job to reassure her."  
  
"Huh? Uh...okay. You're...um...doing good. Keep it up. OW!"  
  
"What was that?" Hank exclaimed, his voice full of concern.  
  
"She's...ow...braking my hand, man." Chris cringed in pain, but couldn't wrestle his hand free.  
  
"Shut up!" She snapped at the boy, as if it were his fault. "I hate men! They're nothing but whining children." She turned to Remy. "I hate you, too! This is all your fault! If you hadn't gotten me drunk, then none of this would have happened!"  
  
Chris cocked an eyebrow, temporarily forgetting about the pain in his hand. "Now that's a story I wanna hear sometime."  
  
On the Blackbird, Logan laughed out loud. "Man, am I glad that I ain't there."  
  
"I heard that, Logan," Storm said. "You just wait until you get here. You think you can really heal that fast? You just wait until I get a hold of you!"  
  
Logan let out a low whistle. "Damn, I didn't know that Ro could be that mean. She must be really suffering there."  
  
"It is fairly normal for women to experience waves of anger giving birth," Hank explained. "It is partly do to hormone fluctuations..."  
  
"Shut up, Hank!" Storm yelled. "Just shut up and tell Remy what to do now! I think he's screwing up down here!"  
  
"Hey, I'm not even doing anything! Oh, damn, bete. Stormy, keep pushin', chere. Here come the head."  
  
"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!" Storm screamed in a voice none of her friends even knew she had. Chris' ears literally rang for a second. "Please," he begged Remy. "Don't call her that again. First my hand, now my ears."  
  
"Alright, Remy," Hank continued. "Now that the head is out, you need to stroke down its nose to expel any fluids that may be in its lungs, and then take the head in two hands, and push gently downward. Ororo, as he does that, you need to push as hard as you can in order to deliver the shoulders."  
  
"Okay," Remy said, pushing gently. It wasn't as easy as it might seem. The head was bloody and slippery, and he was already covered in fluids. So was the floor, his shirt and everything else. "Okay," he said again, "push, Sto...I mean, 'Roro. C'mon push, here comes an arm. Push!"  
  
"I AM PUSHING!" she screamed.  
  
"What's happening, Remy?" Hank asked.  
  
"Uh...one arm's out. No wait, here comes the other one. Damn, it's slippery. Keep pushin', chere. It almost over now. Here come the rest of it! Hank, it's here! I got it! It's out!" Remy watched in awe as the baby slipped into his arms, let out a choking gasp, and a struggling cry.  
  
"Excellent!" Hank said. "You both did incredible! What is it?"  
  
"Huh?" Remy asked.  
  
"Is it a boy or a girl?" Logan asked, shaking his head. What else could he have meant?  
  
"Jesus, I didn't even look! It's...uh...It's a girl!" He replied proudly.  
  
Both Hank and Logan let out a cheer, and they shook hands. "Congratulations!" Hank exclaimed. "Now, Remy, you need to wrap her up in something warm and dry immediately."  
  
"Ah...okay, but what?" Remy said, looking around. His clothes were soaked.  
  
"Here," Chris said, throwing him his jacket. "Take mine."  
  
Remy wrapped up the squirmy little wet baby in Chris's jacket. He smiled at her, and for the first time, he noticed something. "Hank," he said. "The baby's purple."  
  
"Purple?"  
  
"Yeah," he said, grinning. "She got purple skin, and white hair. She's beautiful." "Remy, if at all possible, can you find something to cut the umbilical cord with?"  
  
"Uh...wait a second" Carefully, he licked his lips, and sending the slightest of kinetic charges through one finger he separated Ororo from the baby.  
  
Storm finally let go of Chris's hand and sat up slightly. "Let me see my baby," she said. Remy gently handed her over.  
  
Logan lit up a celebratory cigar. "Hey, Gumbo, I think she must be yours. No purple skinned people in my family tree."  
  
Remy laughed softly at that, but it was slightly sad. He watched as Ororo and Chris cooed over the baby, but he had to turn away. He was sure that she wasn't his. The minute he got a good look at her, he could tell. She had Logan's eyes. Although both Ororo and Logan had similar blue eyes, there was something about hers. That had the icy quality, yet softer somehow. He couldn't explain it, but he just knew. She was Logan's daughter.  
  
"I gotta solid signal now," Logan's voice came on over the com link. "We'll be there in two minutes, Cajun."  
  
"Great," Remy replied, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. "We're waitin', mon ami."  
  
"Remy," Ororo called. "Come here. Come here and meet your daughter."  
  
He walked back over and sat down next to his best friend. "Chere, I..." He began, but stopped. He couldn't tell her, not yet. They would still have Hank perform the paternity test, and that would let her know. For a few minutes, anyway, he could pretend that this blue-eyed, white-haired, purple-skinned little bundle was indeed his daughter.  
  
"I've never seen a purple baby before," Chris said wondrously. "That's the weirdest thing ever."  
  
"There is not a thing 'weird' about her," Ororo informed him. "She is absolutely perfect. Isn't that right, Remy?"  
  
"You said it, cherie." The baby let out a soft cry, and stared up at them. She seemed to be able to sense that they were talking about her.  
  
"I think she like you, Chris," Remy said, smiling.  
  
He had to grin. "Yeah, well, how could she resist?"  
  
"By the way, I want to thank you," he added. Chris looked at him, slightly surprised.  
  
"For what?" He asked.  
  
"Saving our lives for one, and for helping with the baby."  
  
Chris shrugged. "S'alright. I didn't really do anything."  
  
"Oh, yes," Storm interjected. "You did do something. You gave me hope for the future. Lately, I have been wondering if having a baby was not an insane thing for me to be doing. But since I have met you, and I realized that if you can see the err of your ways, than there is hope for everyone else." She looked down at her daughter, who had fallen asleep, and stroked her cheek. "You have given me hope that she may not have to face the kind of prejudice that Remy, I and our friends had to growing up."  
  
Chris looked speechless. His jaw dropped slightly. "I...I did that?"  
  
Remy nodded. "That you did, mon ami. I'd like to shake your hand."  
  
He stared at the man for a minute, again not sure what to say. He never imagined that a mutant would be asking to shake his hand. He hesitated for a few seconds, but finally, he grinned and shook Remy's hand.  
  
"Well, isn't this touching," a voice came seemingly from nowhere. Remy, Ororo and Chris jerked up in surprise. Standing there, holding a gun pointed directly at them, was Lt. Michael Sanderson.  
  
Chris shrank against the wall of the cave. "Oh, no," he whispered. "Oh, no..."  
  
Hee-hee...I am evil Homer... Oh, and I should mention that you'll have to suspend disbelief in some parts of this. Having a baby, especially in a cave, wouldn't be that easy...but these are superheroes, so we'll just pretend. 


	20. Chapter 20

Well, we're almost to the end. Enjoy...  
  
Remy immediately moved into a protective stance in front of Ororo and the baby. "Who the Hell are you?" He asked the man in front of him, although he was pretty sure he could guess.  
  
Sanderson aimed his gun right between Remy's eyes. "Someone who is going to make you pay for what you did, mutant. Now, up," he said motioning with his gun. Remy, Ororo, and Chris reluctantly stood. Ororo clutched her sleeping daughter to her chest. "Please," she begged. "Don't hurt my baby. Please."  
  
"Shuttup!" Sanderson growled, and swiped the baby from her. Remy jumped forward, but Storm held him back.  
  
"No!" She yelled, grabbing his arm. "You may hurt the baby! Do not attack him!"  
  
"But he'll kill her!" Remy said. "I have to stop him!" The baby seemed to sense that something was wrong and began to cry loudly. Sanderson glanced at her and then at Remy, and evil glare in his eye. "Do it," he said. "And I will kill it." Remy hesitated, shaking with anger, but he very reluctantly stepped back. Sanderson laughed, and motioned to the entrance of the cave. The three of them headed out, terrified at what they would find there. Outside, a small army of about twenty F.O.H. soldiers stood, rifles out, in a semi-circle surrounding the cave. There was almost a cheer as they were lead out, and Lt. Sanderson held up his hand. "We have found the enemy," he announced. "Now, we will have our revenge!"  
  
Storm gripped Remy's hand tightly. She was close to tears as she saw the man that held her screaming baby. "What do we do?" She whispered. "Oh, Goddess, Remy, what do we do?"  
  
For the first time in a long while, Remy felt the unmistakable throb in his chest of absolute and unadulterated fear. Even held captive in the Friends of Humanity compound, or stuck delivering his friend's baby, he hadn't felt this helpless. He certainly couldn't take on twenty armed men, and even if he somehow could get away, if he tried to get at Sanderson, he would risk hurting the baby. The crowd began to chant, "Kill the mutants! Kill the mutants!" Remy shook his head. "I don't know, chere," he whispered. "I honestly don't know."  
  
Sanderson handed to baby to one of his men, and held up a hand, once again silencing them. "We will take care of the freaks shortly, but first we have something else to deal with." He turned to Chris with a disgusted sneer on his face, and grabbed him by his collar. "Men, we have among us a traitor. Private Vasquez has committed the ultimate sin against mankind. He has betrayed us to the enemy, and the little Judas must be punished for it!"  
  
Chris backed up, struggling against the much bigger man. "No! No, I didn't! I'm not!" Sanderson pulled out a small handgun, and held it to Chris' head, cocking it.  
  
"No!" Both Remy and Ororo screamed. Remy charged forward, despite the overwhelming danger. Sanderson turned his gun to him, but all of a sudden, the entire situation changed. The Blackbird. All twenty of the soldiers, including Sanderson, looked up in surprise at the huge plane hovering over them, too surprised, in fact, to shoot. The cockpit door was open, and there was a sudden blur of hair and claws as Logan jumped out with a bestial roar despite the fact that it was probably thirty feet to the ground. Remy immediately threw himself at Sanderson, knocking him away from Chris. Logan landed hard on top of five guards, and with one look at his claws flashing in the sunlight, all Hell broke loose. Storm took advantage of the chaos, and despite her still weak condition, she swiped up her baby, and headed over for the Blackbird that Hank was landing. .  
  
"Logan!" Remy yelled. "Forget these fools! Let's get the Hell outta here!"  
  
Logan dodged an array of bullets, swiping at the gun-wielding maniacs with his claws. "Good idea! Get to the plane! I'll cover you!"  
  
Remy swiped up a few rocks on the ground, charged them, and chucked them in the direction of Sanderson. He grabbed Chris' arm. "Come on!"  
  
Logan sliced clean through one man's gun, and sent another flying head over heels as he took of after him. They were going to get out of here, he would see to that. Suddenly, he saw one soldier, the one that he guessed was in charge of this hellhole, pull out another gun and aim it in the direction of Gambit and the Spanish-looking kid. "Cajun!" He yelled. "Get down!"  
  
But Wolverine's warning was a second too late. It was like slow motion the way it happened. He heard the gun fire, and watched helplessly as a bullet ripped clear through the chest of Chris Vasquez. He hit the ground hard, and Remy froze. "No!" He screamed, spinning around, but Sanderson had already taken off.  
  
Wolverine ran hard until he had caught up with him. Remy was holding the heavily bleeding boy in his arms. He was already spitting up blood, and Logan seriously doubted that he would live. "Come on, Cajun," he said. "We gotta get the kid to the plane."  
  
"Take him," Remy said in a voice Logan had never heard. "I'm going after Sanderson."  
  
But Logan wouldn't hear of it. "No, you're not, kid. You're getting on that jet with me, right now. There's two people on that plane that need you, and I ain't gonna let you go off and get yourself killed."  
  
Remy glared at him, and then down at Chris. "He gotta pay for what he did, Wolverine."  
  
"I know 'bout revenge, Cajun. I know better then anyone. Hell, this whole damn thing is my fault, and you better believe I want a piece of these assholes, but now ain't the time, and this ain't the place." He took the lifeless body of the boy, and headed for the Blackbird. He wasn't going to force the man to come with him, and he wouldn't half-blame him if he took off after Sanderson. But as he reached the jet, and saw him running after him, as he knew he would, and understood why he hadn't.  
  
"Hank!" Logan yelled as he lay Chris down on a seat. "Get your furry blue butt over here!"  
  
Hank appeared from where he had been seeing to Ororo and her baby. He took one look at him and gasped. "Oh, my stars and garters. Logan, what happened?"  
  
Remy rang through the door and quickly shut it. "We gotta get outta here, they're comin' back!"  
  
Logan headed into the cockpit, and in less than a few seconds, the plane was already soaring through the sky. Hank ripped open Chris's shirt, and grabbed a towel to stop the blood. He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, there is nothing I can do until we get back to the mansion."  
  
"You gotta do something!" Remy said exasperated. "He'll die!"  
  
Hank closed his eyes. "I can tell just from looking at him that the bullet had gone clear through his liver, Remy. That is why his abdomen is turning a greenish color. I fear that it is too late."  
  
Remy grabbed his friend's arm. "No, damnit, no! Damnit, bete, you gotta do something!"  
  
"Hey," a choked voice came. Remy and Hank turned to Chris. Remy plopped down next to him. "Kid, you're okay!" He exclaimed.  
  
Chris shook his head, wincing as he did. "No," he muttered. "I'm dying. I know I am."  
  
Remy grabbed his hand. "You can't. Damnit, you can't! I owe you my life, and Stormy and the baby!"  
  
Chris shook his head. "It's okay. My sister is here. I can see her. I'm going to be with Aquiel. So it's okay, see? But I had to thank you first..."  
  
"For what?" Remy asked. Chris gasped and began to choke. Blood was leaking from his mouth. "Don't try to talk, homme. Save your strength."  
  
Chris shook his head wearily. "No. I have to...to thank you. You showed me...that not all mutants are bad. You gave me the chance...the chance to make it alright...for what I did. Thank you...tell her...tell her thank you..." He began to cough again, and blood spurted out of his mouth. Then, he fell back against the seat, and let out one last breath as he closed his eyes forever.  
  
Remy squeezed his hand. "No!" He said. "No, Hank, do something!"  
  
Hank put his huge paw on his friend's shoulder. "He's at peace, Remy. Let him go."  
  
Remy shook free and stood up. He went over to the window and stared down at the land below. Maine was slowly fading into the distance. Soon, they would all be home safe and sound, back in New York. Safe and sound...yeah, right. "Why did this happen?" He asked, but not really expecting an answer. "Why did any of this happen?"  
  
Hank folded Chris Vasquez' arms over his chest, and grabbed a clean towel to cover his body. He was so young, and how could anyone really know why it happened? Hank looked up at his friend staring out the window. He knew that he had seen much suffering in his short life, far more than Hank himself, but he took everyone hard. Too hard. He seemed to take each tragedy personally, as if he was being personally punished. "Remy," he said. "That is a question that man has been asking since the beginning of time. As far as I am concerned, it is a question best left to poets and saints. It is hard, I know, to understand why someone so young would have to be sacrificed, but I think that he would not want you to be angry. Today, especially, you have much to be thankful for. You have a beautiful daughter to enjoy. Chris would want you to be happy."  
  
Remy didn't answer. He did love the baby. Very much, despite the fact he was certain that she wasn't his. He was grateful that Stormy and her were safe, but that was still of little comfort. Chris had saved his life, and he hadn't been able to save his. Hank, again, rested a hand on Remy's shoulder. "It will hurt, I know. But now is the time when you must be strongest, my friend. Time will heal your pain."  
  
Remy nodded. "Thanks, bete. I 'preciate it." He turned back around, and patted his arm. "Really." He looked at the body of Chris, and then went to the very back of the jet where Storm was sleeping. Hank had given her a sedative to calm her because she needed to regain all the strength she lost. The baby was sleeping on top of her, and he picked her up. She was wrapped up in a blanket now, but Chris' jacket lay next to her. She woke up when Remy picked her up, and let out a surprised cry, but then stopped and looked up at him.  
  
"Hey, petite," he said softly. "Sorry I woke you up. I'm your Uncle Remy. You got lots more aunts and uncles at home you're gonna meet real soon." The baby frowned and let out a yawn. Remy smiled. "Boring you, hehn? Well, I guess after what you been through all in one day, you gonna 'spect that kinda excitement every day. I let you go back to sleep. You had a real hard day, and you're all of an hour old. But first, I gotta tell you something. You may not be my daughter, although I wish you were, but even though you not, I want you to know I always gonna be here for you. No matter what. I owe it to Stormy, and I owe it to you." The baby yawned again and closed her eyes, and immediately fell back asleep. "I always be here for you, chere," he whispered, rocking her gently.  
  
Creed struggled futilely against the handcuffs that kept him restrained to a heating vent in the closet of his own office. No matter how much he thrashed about, however, he could not budge the stubborn thing. He couldn't even yell for help because, of course, his mouth had been taped. He wasn't too worried, yet, though, eventually someone would find him.  
  
Suddenly, he thought he heard breathing. He couldn't imagine how because the door was closed, but he was sure he heard something. He let out in array of muffled cries, hoping to alert whoever was there. Thrashing about, he tried to make as much noise as possible. If there really was someone there, this could be his ticket out of here. He paused, and listened. From somewhere in his office, he could hear someone moving around. He was sure. He began to struggle again, banging the handcuffs against the metal vent. Bang, bang, bang. The loud noise echoed through the vent and around the closet.  
  
It worked. The closet door opened, and Creed looked up to see the outline of a person standing over him. It was too dark in the room for him to see exactly who it was, but he was very relieved when he felt a cold hand rip the tape from his mouth.  
  
He spit a few times, and licked his lips, glad to be rid of it. "Thank you." He said in a choked voice. "I didn't think anyone would ever find me."  
  
The strange person didn't respond, but instead stepped behind Creed, and amazingly, ripped apart the handcuffs with his bare hands. Creed was shocked at his strength, and was a little afraid as he felt a rough hand lift him to his feet. Creed rubbed his chaffed wrists, and stared at the mysterious stranger in awe. "Who are you?" He asked in a voice that seemed braver than he really felt.  
  
The man turned, stepped over to the wall, and said, "I think you know who I am, Mr. Creed." He switched on the light, and his eery white face became visible.  
  
Creed swallowed and stepped back nervously. "Dr...Dr. Essex."  
  
The man narrowed his eyes dangerously, walking back over to the leader of the F.O.H. "I am not known by Dr. Nathaniel Essex any longer, Mr. Creed, because I am no longer he. You may call me Mr. Sinister."  
  
"Of course, I forgot." Creed replied in a squeaky voice, slumping down in his desk chair. He couldn't help staring at the strange and creepy man before him. He did indeed look sinister. His skin was pure white, like a ghost, or maybe a corpse. He had bright red lips, as if he were wearing lipstick, but Creed seriously doubted that he was. His short black hair was a funny contrast from the pale skin, but it was his eyes that were especially unnerving. They were solid black, without pupils, almost like two dark holes bored into his head.  
  
"Do you have some reason why you are staring at me, Creed?" Sinister asked, his deep voice strangely sounding snake-like.  
  
"Uh..no, of course not, Mr. Sinister."  
  
Sinister smiled at the man. "Am I correct in understanding that you let the two mutants escape?"  
  
Creed leaned back in his chair, unsure of what to say. "Y...Yes, sir, they did."  
  
Sinister merely nodded. "And than, of course, the child that you were to obtain for me went with them." This time, Creed could only manage a nod.  
  
"I should have known better than to rely on you, Creed. Do you realize how much time and effort I've put into obtaining this child? Can you even fathom how important it is to my research? And LeBeau. You should have killed him while you had the chance. As I ordered you too. I told you that he was dangerous. There was no reason for you to even bring him here! But you did. Why? So you could amuse yourself torturing him?"  
  
Creed shook his head tentatively. "I...I'm sorry, sir. I don't know how they could have gotten away. No one's ever been able to escape from the compound before."  
  
Sinister growled and slammed his fist on the desk, just inches away from Creed. He squealed and jumped back in his chair. "They got away," Sinister hissed, "because you underestimated them. I know LeBeau better than almost anyone. As I said, he was once a patient of mine. He has a most unique genetic code that I am trying to use to create a new breed of mutants. He, of course, has no idea. Nor can he ever find out. That is why I ordered you to kill him. However, now that he has a biological offspring with another mutant whose powers are nearly as advanced as his own, this child could be the missing link that I need. I warned you that he was a highly trained thief and master of escape, even without his powers. You did not take the necessary precautions, Creed. You let them escape."  
  
"I can get them back, Mr. Sinister. My men..."  
  
"Your men are as incompetent as you, Creed!" Sinister interrupted. "They couldn't track their own shadows, much less these two mutants."  
  
"No, wait!" Creed exclaimed as Sinister turned toward the door to leave. "I can get them back, sir, I swear! Just give me another chance!"  
  
Sinister turned, his black eyes gleaming through the growing shadows of the room. "Another chance?" He asked.  
  
Creed nodded emphatically. "I'll get them for you, sir, I swear. And because it was my fault I let them escape the first time, I'll take half of what we agreed upon initially. Do we have a deal?"  
  
Sinister stared at the man for a long while, so long that Creed began to feel nervous. He squirmed in his chair, but at last the strange geneticist smiled. "Alright, Mr. Creed. We have a deal."  
  
Creed grinned, feeling very relieved. "Excellent."  
  
"But before we shake on it," Sinister added. "You must tell me how one of my modified slave collars came to be around your neck."  
  
Creed grimaced. "Well, it was sort of an accident..."  
  
"An accident?" Sinister interrupted. "A shame. But then, accidents do happen. They happen all the time. Just like you 'accidently' losing LeBeau, Munroe and the baby." Creed watched in horror as Sinister reached over the desk, so fast that he hardly had time to think about what was happening, and grabbed him around the neck. He tried to scream, but the man's extremely strong grip had cut off his air way. "And I'm afraid, Mr. Creed, that you are about to have an accident right now." Creed squealed in terror and shock as the hand the throttled him grabbed the collar and ripped it from his neck, taking most of his upper body with it as it exploded with a loud boom.  
  
No, no, it's not over...hope y'all stay tuned for the epilogue next week. 


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks to everyone who left such upbeat review for this story! There may very well be a sequel, as obviously I know there are some unanswered questions, although I cannot promise when. But I want everyone to know that I appreciate everything.

The professor sat, perfectly still, in his study. He eyes were on the spring grass and trees swaying softly in the breeze of an unusually warm March day. _It is in nature that I find the good that still exists on this world of ours. For only a being more perfect than anything we know could create all of this. We really do have much to hope for._

"Charles?"

He turned to see Hank entering the room. He had expected him sooner or later. "How are you, my friend?"

"Well enough, considering." He sat next to him.

"How are Ororo and the baby?"

"Excellent. The one bright spot on this other wise dark day." Hank turned to look at his mentor. "You do know that it is Logan, do you not?"

Xavier smiled. "Fatherhood will be good for him."

"Time shall show us how good."

The two laughed, neither wanting to broach the subject that was on both incredible minds. But at last Hank could not stand the not-knowing any longer. "What have learned, professor? Of Sinister, I mean?"

Xavier turned to his student, face far graver than Hank hoped. "Creed has paid the price for his part in this. But as for Sinister, we have certainly not heard the last of him. He has some...personal interest in this."

"But can you not locate him? Should we not fight? I mean, if he is after that innocent baby..."

"I cannot find him, Hank."

"What?"

Charles shrugged. "Do not speak to anyone of this. But I feel there is a reason I was not able to locate Remy and Ororo while they were being held captive, and also why I cannot find Sinister."

"What reason, Charles?"

"The baby."

"The baby?" Hank started to laugh, on instinct if nothing else, because the idea of a mere infant preventing the greatest mind on Earth from using his powers fully was preposterous, but the look on the man's face told him that he was not kidding. "How do you mean?"

"I cannot explain it, Beast. But Sinister is using that baby somehow, using her to block my powers. He wanted Gambit and Storm to escape from the FOH compound. There is a connection between them. What, I don't know. Yet. But I do know this much. Sinister is watching us. Even now. Watching and waiting. He will have the baby, but at a time when he is ready. There will be a war for her, Hank."

"War? But why..." Hank began, only to be interrupted by Xavier's voice clear and strong in his head.

_Because this baby may be the most powerful mutant born yet on this Earth._

Her room was dark, darkened enough that mid-afternoon looked as if the sun had already set. Logan walked slowly into Ororo's bedroom as if he were unsure of what to expect. The whole room smelled fresh, of hundreds of plants and flowers. It smelled of rebirth. With his excellent senses, he was sure he could smell even a second chance.

"Come in, Logan."

He smiled quickly and silently made his way to the bed. The kid was downstairs, eating some much needed food, but he wouldn't be away from Ro and the baby for long. Logan didn't mind. In a way, he wanted all four of them to be there. It seemed right. But for now, it would be just the three of them. He had a daughter.

"You know, don't you?" He asked.

"Yes."

Logan sighed, sucking in a loud breath. What could he say? Had Ororo wanted Remy to be the father? She had to have. All that time she spent with him. Hell, he knew how they felt about each other. And as close as he and Ro were, it would never be as close as her and Remy. Their relationship was special. Special in a way that Logan had felt in his life. Only to have it swim away time and time again.

"I'm sorry, darling."

Ororo looked at him, her eyes wide. "What in the name of the Goddess for?"

"Jesus, everything." He said. How could she not know? "Running off, killing that SOB, fighting with you, and then not being able to save that kid. And I know that you would rather have had Gumbo for her dad then me. I can't blame you for it. I can't help but feel...feel like I let you down."

"Oh, Logan..." she said, her gaze traveling down to the sleeping baby in her arms. She was a quiet baby so far. Her skin was soft as velvet. Her hair hung in white tendrils like lamb fleece down her face. She had ten perfect fingers and toes. There was a small birthmark under her chin. She made a soft wheezy noise as she slept. Those were just a few of a hundred things Ororo had noticed in the first few hours of motherhood. These were things that the books she had read hadn't prepared her for. How perfect being a mother felt. She had a daughter. She had a legacy. "My dear friend," she said in a soft voice. "You know how much I care for Remy. I owe him more, and he I, than any other person I will ever meet. But that does not change my feelings for you. You are a very important, very special man, Logan. You are unlike any other. And I understand why you did everything that you did. You have given me the greatest gift in the world. You have given me her. And I shall always love you for that."

Logan felt his jaw clamp shut. Something inside his chest, made mostly of indestructible metal felt like it was burning. His hand, normally steady as ice, shook slightly as he reached out toward his baby. With one finger he traced a curl on her forehead. Something in his throat stuck, and he just barely held it back. "Thanks, darling." He said. His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Remy sat in the kitchen, devouring a huge plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and biscuits with honey that Jean had made especially for him. All southern foods that he had grown up on and loved. Temporarily distracted by the food, he could think of nothing but filling his stomach. Never had he been so hungry before.

He didn't even look up when Logan came into the dining room and sat down next to him. He didn't talk, just sat there while Remy ate. Finally, he set his fork down and looked at him. Logan raised his eyebrows. "You already know, don't you?"

Remy nodded. "Yeah, don't ask me how, but I know. Does Stormy?"

"Yeah," Logan said, recalling the scene. "She does. I'm sorry, kid. It shoulda been you."

He shook his head. "If it was supposed to be me then it would have. So don't say that. You got yourself a beautiful daughter, mon ami, and she needs you."

Logan actually grinned. "Yeah." He wanted to say more. He wanted to explain to the kid how he felt, but he couldn't. But it was a euphoria that he would have gladly shared. So he said the only thing he could. "She's just as much yours, you know. I think that's the way it should be. She's my daughter, but yours in a way, too. You know what I mean?"

Remy starred at him. Yeah, he knew what he meant. Or what he was trying to say. She was his in a way. And that would have to be enough. For now, it was enough. He nodded, smiling, not trusting his voice. And it was enough. He wanted nothing more now than to be with Ororo and the baby.

"Hey, Cajun," Logan said, before Remy could leave. "I...uh, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. About what happened. This whole Friends a flamin' Humanity thing was my fault."

Remy shrugged. "No, it wasn't. It wasn't 'cause I'd have done the same thing."

"We ain't seen the last of them, ya know," Logan said, rising. He didn't want to admit it, but what good would lying to yourself do?

"I know. But I'll be damned if they gonna get within a hundred miles of that baby. If I have to fly my plane into that compound to see that that don't happen, I will."

Logan nodded, sharing the man's new-found paternal feelings. "And I'll be right next to ya in the co-pilots seat, Cajun."

The two stared at each other for a second, and then both started laughing. Neither know why, maybe it was just a way of relieving all the stress of these last eight months, but for whatever reason they laughed until their chests hurt. It was funny, and they knew it, but both also knew that they hadn't been kidding. If it ever came down to it, both would die for the life of that little baby girl.

A few moments later, he went to see Storm. "Come in, my friend. She's awake."

He sat down next to her bed. The baby was wearing a pink onesy, and wrapped in a beautiful hand-knitted yellow blanket that Betsy had made for her. She had the biggest blue eyes that he had ever seen. "I'm sorry that she is not yours," Ororo said.

Remy reached out to touch her silky white hair. She had quite a lot of it. It was pretty obvious where she got it from. "That don't matter, chere. She may not be my daughter, but that don't mean she not mine."

"You are right," Storm said, kissing him. "She will always be Logan's daughter, and that makes me happy because I know he will be an excellent father, but it makes me even more happy to know she has you for her uncle and godfather."

"It makes me happy to, chere. I love her already. I can't believe she's here."

"I know," Storm said, smiling down at her. "I've already discussed it with Logan, and he agrees. If it's alright with you, I think we should name her Aquiel. Aquiel Christina Logan."

Remy smiled. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. "I think he would have liked that. It's right."

"Welcome back, you guys!"

They looked up to see Bobby, still in his wheelchair, came in the room. "I knew you guys were okay. I had faith in you, just like you did in me. Oh, hey, guess what, I won the baby poll!"

"You did?" They both said in unison.

"Yeah," he said, beaming. "I picked a girl, 6 pounds, and she was 5 and a half, and I had the earliest date, April 1st, and even though it's only March 7th, I still won! So, thanks, Storm for having the baby now. You just made me 200 bucks!" He grinned down at little Aquiel. "You hear that, sweetheart, you just made your Uncle Bobby a lot of money. Yes, you did." He kissed her tiny little purple cheek, and wheeled out of the room as if the baby had been born under perfectly normal circumstances.

"He is such a character," Ororo said, shaking her head.

"You can say that again."

"Remy," Ororo said. "I am sorry about what happened to Chris. It is a tragedy. But now, he will live on. I wanted to tell you that. His spirit will live on in the child that bears the name of his beloved sister."

Remy nodded. "That he will. Forever an' ever."

Storm stroked her daughter's soft head. "You are a very lucky little girl. You have so many people who love you. My beautiful Aquiel..."

"_Each child is a new being, a potential prophet, a new spiritual person, a new spark, a light precipitated into the outer darkness."_

_-R.D. Laing_

The End 

(For now, at least)


End file.
